Imagine
by crazylizzie
Summary: The events of Season 5 have left the Pegasus Galaxy vulnerable, and some will do anything to protect themselves from the growing Wraith threat. Spoilers through Season 5. Will, eventually, include Sparky
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I, of course, own nothing but am doing this as a bit of fun.

A/N: Spoilers through the end of Season 5. Does not take into consideration any sort of movie material, if the movie ever does get released.

* * *

She dreams.

In her dreams, she stands at a window looking out at a vast expanse of snow, a white field as far as she can see.

Frigid, lonely, an expanse of isolation.

Standing next to her is someone she cannot see. She knows the person, the shadow just outside her visual field, but she cannot identify the figure, cannot put a name to the shadow.

A face.

An identity.

But in its presence, there is comfort. In the presence of the shadow there is security. Trust. Acceptance.

She wants to turn. To look at the person standing next to her, but she is rooted to the spot. Unable to move. Unable to turn her eyes towards what is a safe place. Security.

But there is no security, and as she dreams, the glass that separates her from the harsh landscape begins to crack. First, a small crack in the far upper right hand corner, a split, a small ting of glass resounding in the silence when it hits the floor. And then, the small crack spreads. Rapidly. A line screeching down one side of the glass, another along the top, another in the middle. More fractures, more cracks, more pieces falling, faster and faster, the roaring in her ears incredible, a blinding blast of freezing air...

The glass breaks. Suddenly. Completely. Sending shards of glass outwards in a million pieces of ice.

Then.

Blackness. Silence. Cold.

She opens her eyes and knows she shouldn't be here. The knowledge is complete, as if she knew the information even before she opened her eyes. She shouldn't be anywhere but in the vast expanse of space.

In the cold, frigid blackness. That is where she should be.

She wonders if she has made a mistake. If somehow, the plan has not worked and she has made a terrible mistake. But no. She remembers giving the signal. As the last piece of air squeezed from her lungs, she gave the signal back through the Stargate. She did it. She remembers it.

So. What now?

Elizabeth Weir looks around. She is lying on a cot in a room lit by a single candle. She takes an experimental breath and she feels her lungs expand. She lets the air out. Slowly, completely then takes in another large breath.

The sound of her heartbeat is strong in her ears.

She sits up, cautiously, testing her strength, her body, herself. Her body responds. There is stiffness in her arms as she props herself up, in her stomach muscles and the muscles along her spine. But the stiffness is not like she was, at some point, injured and is recovering, but more like she has slept in the same place for too long and now that she is awake, her body is protesting.

She pushes the blanket from her body, her arms shaking slightly at the effort. She looks down. She is naked, the lines of her body familiar.

Familiar.

She knows the rise of her breasts, the flatness of her belly, the shape of her thigh and ankle. She knows this body and wonders how it is possible.

This is not the body from before. The body she used. This is her body.

She runs a hand down the length of it, feeling the curves, the familiarity of it. She lingers over a mole on her left hip. She has had that mole since as far back as she can remember. Simon, once upon a time, had kissed that mole, telling her it was a badge that he would always look for, to make sure she was who she was and no one else.

The memory frightens her. They are Elizabeth's memories.

Her memories.

She shouldn't be here.

She looks around. The room is small, really no bigger than a closet, with the cot she sits on and a small table with the candle. The walls are stone, almost as if made directly from rock and she wonders if she is in a cave somewhere.

The door leading out is heavy looking, a dark wood with heavy bolts and an old fashion key hole.

Light shines from the small keyhole in the door.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Elizabeth pushes herself to her feet, hesitantly, unsure. A wave of dizziness assaults her and she closes her eyes, wondering how that is possible. How any of it is possible, but how, especially, the physical responses of her body are possible. It is too normal. The heartbeat, the breathe moving in and out of her body, the waves of dizziness and the nausea in her stomach.

Too normal.

She opens her eyes when the key sounds at the door. She reaches behind her and grabs the blanket, pulling it around her body, watching as the key is inserted, turning, the door opening and revealing a woman, tall, athletic, an aura of authority about her.

Elizabeth wants to sit down, wants to stop the waves of nausea and dizziness.

She holds the blanket closer to her naked body.

She remains standing, watching as the woman walks into the small room, door closing behind her.

"Hello," the woman says, tilting her head so dark hair falls over one shoulder. At her hip is a pistol, different but familiar. Elizabeth wonders where she has seen it before.

"Where am I?" Elizabeth asks. Her voice is scratchy. Dry.

That's not right either. Too human.

"We rescued you," the woman says.

Elizabeth shakes her head, slowly, as to not cause the dizziness to turn into something more, something that would lead to unconsciousness.

"I don't understand."

The woman smiles. It is not a reassuring smile. She takes a step forward and Elizabeth resists the urge to flinch. The woman does not scare her; rather she is worried about herself scaring the woman. She is worried about the billions of nanites in her body running amuck, suddenly alive.

She is worried they will react to the threat the woman possesses. It has happened before.

"We picked you up from the middle of nowhere and brought you back to life," the woman said. "No need to thank us."

Elizabeth tries to process the information but her mind is muddled, unclear, foggy, like she has not slept in a very long time. There is motivation, somewhere, some reason. This woman knew where Elizabeth had taken her group of Replicators. Somehow, this woman, whoever she is, was able to locate their position and had purposefully acquired them. But how did this woman come by the information of the location? And more, why?

Alarm bells ringing in the back of her head cause Elizabeth to shut her eyes. To focus. What is wrong?

She opens them suddenly, looking at the woman.

"The others, you have the others?" Elizabeth asks. There is no alarm in her voice, but it is a near thing.

"No. We had no need for them, so we left them floating," the woman answers.

Good, Elizabeth thinks, and then, thinks that this is another piece of information.

But, it doesn't matter. Nothing is making sense even with the little pieces of knowledge.

Elizabeth lets herself sit down.

"Why?" She asks, looking up at the woman across the small room. "Why am I here?"

The woman hesitates. It is a mere fraction of a moment, but Elizabeth catches it. She has always known to look for those small things. Those small moments that gives the other person away. It's why she was as good as she was as a diplomat. As a peacemaker. Because she knows how to manipulate. How to read people and then manipulate them. She has always been good at doing that.

Elizabeth was good at it, she corrects herself mentally. Not her. Elizabeth Weir.

"We need your help," the woman answers.

This gets Elizabeth's attention.

The woman starts to pace. She is tall, her legs long and the room is small, but still, she paces back and forth. Her hand plays at the gun at her hip.

"Atlantis has abandoned us," the woman says eventually.

"What?" Elizabeth asks, surprise clear in her voice now.

The woman pauses in her pacing and gives Elizabeth a wry smile. "Yep. Left us high and dry and the Wraith are wiping out everyone, planet by planet."

That doesn't make sense. Not at all. Elizabeth knows that Atlantis – knows that John – would never abandon the Pegasus Galaxy, not if a threat still existed, not if the Wraith still fed and killed. Not unless…

Elizabeth feels her stomach knot. Because she knows exactly why Atlantis would leave the Pegasus Galaxy, the only reason Atlantis would leave the Pegasus Galaxy.

Elizabeth shakes her head again, to banish her thoughts, her sudden worry, causing lights of pain to ricochet across her vision.

She closes her eyes and rubs at the area between them with a finger.

"Mathis said the pain should go away in a couple of days. He said you would experience it, from the process of bringing you back," the woman offers, pacing once more.

Elizabeth opens her eyes and watches the woman.

"How did Mathis bring me back?" Elizabeth asks.

The woman shakes her head. "I don't know. All of that medical stuff doesn't make any sense to me. He just did."

Elizabeth wonders if she will be able to speak to this Mathis, find out what he did, how he did it. Because what he did was not just a rebooting of the nanites. No, he did something else. Something different. She is different. Feeling. Breathing. Heart beating. Nausea. Pain.

Elizabeth pushes those kinds of thoughts away, focusing once more on the conversation at hand.

"When did Atlantis leave?" She asks.

The woman paces. Back and forth and back and forth.

"Three months ago," the woman answers. Shaking her head. "It was fine, at first. The Wraith have been at war with one another for over a year now, essentially killing each other off, but somehow, I don't know, they figured out Atlantis was gone and suddenly they are getting along. Long lost tribes getting together for mass culls. Entire planets are being targeted and are being lost."

The woman stops pacing and turns towards where Elizabeth sits.

"Look. Atlantis was the only thing that was keeping the Wraith in check. They were the only thing that was allowing the population in this galaxy to regain a foothold. With them gone and with the Wraith completely awake, there is no hope for this galaxy. First this galaxy and then other galaxies. They aren't going to stop."

Truth, in everything the woman says. Elizabeth knows it, feels it. She remembers. As if the memories are her own.

"And how do I come into this?" Elizabeth asks.

Another hesitation. Another moment of uncertainty.

Elizabeth waits.

"We need you to contact them," she says.

"Who? The Wraith?"

The woman shakes her head.

"No. We need you to contact Atlantis. Tell them to come back."

"No," Elizabeth responds. Immediately. Because she knows where Atlantis is, or probably is, and to contact them there, for her to contact them there… it isn't even an option. Not even a possibility.

Anger is sudden, quick and fierce across the woman's face, gun suddenly in her hand. She steps towards where Elizabeth sits.

"You don't seem to understand. We brought you back for you to contact them. You don't contact them, we put you back where you were, floating dead in space," the woman says.

"Okay," Elizabeth answers.

A knock at the door probably stops the woman from hitting Elizabeth across the face with her gun. Either that or shooting her, if the look on the woman's face is any indication.

But the knock interrupts the moment, causing the woman to pause and then turn on a heel and go to the door. Elizabeth cannot see who is on the other side and cannot hear what they say, but whatever it is it causes the woman to curse. Loudly.

The woman glances over her shoulder at Elizabeth.

"We aren't done," she says, her voice low and threatening. The woman turns and leaves, slamming the door behind her.

The key turns in the lock. Silence descends on the small space.

"Yes, yes we are," Elizabeth says to the empty room, pulling the blanket more closely around her body.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time the door opens, it is not the woman who walks through, but a man, compact and well muscled with a long mustache that reaches down past his chin. A blue tattoo curls around the side of his face, along his eye, disappearing into dark hair pulled into a pony tail.

He carries a pile of clothing, which he places on the small table.

"You are to get dressed. Commander Larrin requests your presence," the man says, turning around to give Elizabeth a resemblance of privacy.

Elizabeth gets up from the cot and walks to the clothes. Her muscles respond better than they did before, and though hunger gnaws at her backbone, the dizziness has largely subsided.

She doesn't think about the impossibility of her hunger, or the twinge along her spine when she reaches down for the clothes, instead, she wonders about the little bit of information the man has given her.

Commander Larrin, she thinks, picking up the black pants and the black tunic. The name sounds familiar, but she cannot place it. She lets the blanket drop and pulls the clothing on over her naked body. The fabric is slightly scratchy, but no worse than the blanket. She remains barefoot.

"Okay," Elizabeth says, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She wishes she had something to pull her hair back with, the length a lot longer than she is used to.

The man opens the door and then stands at the entrance, waiting for her.

Elizabeth walks out of the small room. She isn't entirely surprised to find herself underground, torches lining the tunnel walls. Outside her door another man stands, younger, thinner.

He flinches when Elizabeth passes him.

She pretends like she doesn't notice.

Instead she focuses on where they are going. The tunnel is long, curving, first descending and then ascending, the stone smooth under her bare feet. Every so often they pass another heavy door, the torchlight flickering against the dark wood, but the man continues to walk until the tunnel ends in a stairwell.

She follows him upwards to a steel door, watching in curiosity as the man enters in a punch code at a small terminal mounted on the wall. The door beeps and then swings open.

Electric light greets them, a hallway stretching outwards.

The man leads her down the hallway; pass more closed doors and then to another stairwell. Opening the door, he indicates she should precede him and she does, pausing slightly as she walks into the stairwell.

"Down the stairs," he says behind her.

She takes the stairs. There is a musty smell in the stairwell and she wrinkles her nose at it.

Elizabeth tries to figure out where they are, tries to look for indication of familiarity, but largely, there is nothing that is overly defining. If anything, the hallway they entered and the stairwell they now take is like a military base. Sterile.

After descending three flights of stairs, the man opens another door to another hallway. This hallway has windows and Elizabeth pauses as the sunlight through the glass touches her skin.

She closes her eyes, feels the warmth of the light against her face, against her bare arms. Living heat, she thinks.

"I would imagine the sun is a change from what you've been used to," a quiet male voice remarks.

Elizabeth opens her eyes and looks in the direction of the voice. Standing there is a tall thin man, about her age, dark brown eyes watching her in a face aged in tiredness. Unlike the other two Elizabeth has encountered, the man is not wearing dark fabric and leather, but rather loose fitting trousers and a tunic much like the one she wears.

The man smiles and approaches her. He walks with a slight limp but in his manner, in his approach, there is smoothness, a glide.

The man turns towards the other with the tattoo.

"Commander Larrin has granted me leave to examine my patient. She is waiting for you in the patrol room. I will bring Dr. Weir there once finished," he says.

The man with the blue tattoo nods and leaves without question.

Elizabeth takes notice of it, watching the other man leave even as Mathis, who she surmises the other man is, turns towards her.

"Please, follow me," Mathis says.

Elizabeth does so, falling into step with him easily, the slight limp allowing her to keep up, though Mathis walks with a long stride.

"I suppose you have a great many questions," Mathis continues as they walk down the hallway.

"A few," Elizabeth answers.

Mathis smiles and glances at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I would think you would have more than a few," he continues, stopping halfway down the hallway and opening a door. Elizabeth follows him into a room, looking around even as he closes the door behind them.

She looks at the lab set out in front of her, the bookcases lining the walls and the desk in the corner overflowing with paper. Natural light flows in from the far wall, which is made up entirely of glass.

"You are the doctor?" She asks.

"No one calls me a doctor, I don't really heal people," Mathis says, making his way towards his desk. "More like what you would call a scientist. Similar, if not the same, to your Dr. McKay."

"Mathis," Elizabeth answers.

He nods. "Quite. Please, take a seat at one of the stools," he says, indicating the stools next to the tall lab tables.

Elizabeth goes to a stool and sits down. She looks over the lab table, not entirely surprised to see different kinds of equipment littered about, including what appears to be Ancient technology along side cruder technology.

"Here," Mathis says, walking towards her, a file in one hand and in the other hand a loaf of bread.

Elizabeth's stomach growls. Mathis hears it and smiles, handing the bread over.

She tears off a piece, ignoring the warning signals in her head, warning signals telling her she should probably not eat anything until she knows she can trust the man.

She puts a piece of the bread in her mouth.

"I thought you might be hungry. Larrin forgets that you aren't a machine and need to be fed," Mathis says, sitting down on a stool in front of Elizabeth.

Elizabeth finishes chewing, the taste in her mouth suddenly that of sawdust.

"Not a machine?" She asks.

Mathis gives her another smile. She notices there is a scar along the right side of his jaw. The scar is thin and barely visible but is obvious in the sunlight, puckered skin from the tip of his jaw up towards his ear.

"No. Not a machine. That's why you're hungry, why, more than likely, your muscles are stiff and you've been having periods of dizziness," he surmises. "Not very machine-like reactions," he continues.

Elizabeth puts the bread down on top of the lab table.

"Who am I?" She asks. There is fear, in the pit of her stomach. Uncertainty as well. Because she feels like Elizabeth Weir. She has her memories. She has her habits. But Elizabeth Weir, the real Elizabeth Weir, died on an operating table in Atlantis with a swollen brain.

The resulting Elizabeth Weir was consumed by nanites until she was no longer a human, but a machine with something like an aura of Elizabeth Weir about her.

The last body that housed her aura had not even been her body, but a construct. A fake. False.

"You are who you think you are," he answers.

Elizabeth shakes her head. Irritated.

Mathis sighs, putting down the file.

"You are Elizabeth Weir. Your being, your person, the very things that make you who you are, they are Elizabeth Weir. Your conscious, say, your soul, is there, is you. All I have done is recreate your body, placed your soul, your being, back into the vessel in which it feels the most at home, the most familiar," he answers.

"Am I clone?" She asks.

Mathis shakes his head. "No. Clones, even if identically the same beings, their essence, it is separate. No two clones are the same because their spirits are not the same. Close, perhaps even indistinguishable, but not the same. You are who you were when we picked you up floating in space."

Elizabeth looks down at her hands clasped in her lap. She unclasps them, holding them out in front of her. They are the hands she knows. Long fingers, slightly rounded at the tip, small wrists.

She lets them fall back to her lap.

"So, I am a nanite construction," she says.

Mathis shakes his head. "There is a minimal amount of nanites in your body, and those that are in your body, I have deactivated them."

Elizabeth shakes her head. "This doesn't make any sense. I was, the other body, it was entirely made up of nanites. That is the only way for me to exist, to mold and create the nanites in such a way, in such an order, to create human form."

"That is the only way that is known to you," Mathis says gently.

Elizabeth studies him, the man sitting in front of her. Studies him, his face, his eyes, the scar.

"Who are you?" She asks.

Mathis smiles, leaning back so his long legs stick out before him. "My name is Mathis Alorus. I am from Proculus."

Elizabeth frowns. Proculus. She knows that name, her memory scanning through the years, trying to place it.

She does. Quickly.

"Chaya," she says, the one thing she remembers most from that particular mission. She feels a familiar twinge upon thinking of the woman who had not actually been a woman. An old familiar twinge made up of the uncertainty she'd felt at the time and a dislike bred in jealousy.

Ridiculous, she scolds herself mentally.

"Yes, what you call Chaya and whom I call benefactor and teacher," Mathis says.

Elizabeth picks up the loaf of bread, tears off another piece and waits for the explanation.

Mathis complies.

"There is a blood line, a family line on Proculus, that is blessed by the Gods and Goddesses, who you call the Ancients. We are given a particular gift, an ability to use the old technology and when we gain maturity, we are granted access to great learning. Chaya is the teacher. I am one of her students," Mathis says.

"The ATA gene," Elizabeth murmurs. It makes sense for the Ascended to have a group of people with the ability to use Ancient technology, just in case the Ascended cannot complete her task of protecting the population.

Mathis continues.

"Several years ago we were given the task to go and collect Ancient technology. Chaya did not give us a reason, just asked that we do so and we did, without question. We traveled all over the galaxy for Ancient technology, avoiding those from Atlantis at all cost, as was Chaya's request. We collected much. Some of the items we were able to use for everyday things, but largely, the items we collected seemed to serve no purpose beyond that of taking up space; however, about a year ago we collected several different items, items that all contained a crystal power source and after finding those items, Chaya told us we no longer needed to collect items and that she had what she needed. The crystals and the technology, I was to learn from Chaya, was for the regeneration of cell growth through the use of nano technology. She explained to me what happened with the Replicators, the horrible things that had occurred, not only while the Ancients lived in Atlantis, but also more recently, with the Atlantis expedition. She explained that at the end of the Replicator wars, the wars between the Ancients and the Replicators, an Ancient had discovered that through certain manipulations he was able to turn the nanite body, those bodies the replicators were using to imagine themselves as Ancients, back into living forms," Mathis pauses, looking at the woman sitting before him.

He leans forward slightly. "Human forms," he says quietly. "Through this research, those who were made of nanites could be transformed into living, human forms. The research was not complete, but Chaya insisted I complete it, which I did, with her help."

Mathis falls silent, watching Elizabeth take in the information. Frown lines appear between her eyes and she stares outwards, not seeing anything.

Mathis lets the silence stretch.

"Why?" She finally asks, refocusing on Mathis before her. "Why did Chaya insist on completing the research?"

Mathis shakes his head. "I don't know and she never said. She just insisted it must be done. Perhaps she knew of what was to come and knew you would be needed. Perhaps she knew that you would not contact Atlantis if you were nothing more than a Replicator, but might if once more of human flesh."

Elizabeth feels another sting of irritation at what Mathis says because, truly, it does change things, if only slightly, and only if it is truth and not just an elaborate story to get her to comply with the request to contact Atlantis.

Mathis reaches out and places a hand over Elizabeth's. His hand his smooth, warm and comforting. Reassuring.

Elizabeth resists the urge to move her hand out from under his.

"I did not know the reason, not until the Travelers arrived on our planet asking for help after one of their planets had been destroyed by the Wraith. Through the many hours of talking with them, I realized why I had been asked to complete the research," he says, quietly.

"And you know now that this was Chaya's intent all along?" Elizabeth asks, not able to keep the doubt from coloring her tones.

Mathis nods. Solemn. "I believe there is a purpose in all we do, and that the purpose for me, for the last ten years of my life, was to be able to bring you back, Dr. Elizabeth Weir, and have you sit in front of me, whole, complete and as human as you once were."

Elizabeth studies the man before her, studies the dark brown eyes, the set of his mouth, the fall of his hair against his forehead. She looks for doubt, for lies, for something other than the belief she sees there.

But all she sees is a man who appears to not have slept in some time, who has a slightly crooked nose and who believes in everything he says.

She inhales, feels the air in her lungs, tastes the remnants of bread on her tongue, exhales, hearing her heart beat sound, feeling it in her chest.

Mathis takes his hand away, standing up and grabbing a stethoscope from the top of the table.

She lets him put her through a physical, a normal, everyday physical; to check for her pulse, to listen to her lungs, to inquire after her dizziness and hunger. She lets him prod at the muscles in her arms, at her stomach and along her thigh. She lets him check her reflexes.

All of it is normal. Her reactions are normal. Even the slight tendency towards being too ticklish along her ribs is normal.

All of what she remembers, knows.

Normal.

"How do I know you're telling me the truth and you have not reprogrammed the nanites to appear as if I am once more human?" Elizabeth asks suddenly.

Mathis turns from where he is jotting down numbers in the folder. A frown mars his forehead as he looks at her. He places the folder down on the counter and turns to face her fully.

"Trust," he says.

Elizabeth shakes her head. "Trust in what?"

"Trust that we need you enough to not lie, that we need you enough to tell you the truth," he answers.

Elizabeth looks around, looks over the material on the lab counter and picks up a scalpel. She puts it to her wrist, the sharpness cold against her skin.

Mathis does not move, freezes, the frown on his face turning to alarm.

"So if I cut myself, along my wrist, I will feel pain, I will bleed and if you do nothing about it, I will die?" Elizabeth asks.

Mathis takes a step towards her and Elizabeth presses the edge to her skin, to the point of breaking the surface.

It hurts.

Mathis stops.

"You will bleed, you will feel pain, you will die," Mathis answers.

There is a pause, a moment, the air tense and heavy as they look at one another.

"I can prove it," Mathis says finally, putting his hands up. "I will take you to Proculus, there, I have a scanner, an Ancient scanner, I can prove to you that you are no longer made of nanites. If I do that, if I arrange that, will you please put the scalpel down?"

Elizabeth looks for lies again, for any sort of deception, but the man is honest, almost achingly so. She takes the sharp edge from the softness of her skin but doesn't put the scalpel down.

"Now," she demands.

Mathis hesitates and then nods. "Yes," he says. He turns then and walks back towards his desk, moving about files and paper until he pulls up what looks like a walky-talky.

"Commander Larrin," he says into the device.

Immediately, the woman answers. "Yes, what is it Mathis? We are waiting for you."

Mathis looks over to where Elizabeth still sits, scalpel still in her hand. "We're going to have a bit of delay."

There is no answer on the other end but within moments the door to the lab opens and Larrin enters, ill humor clear on her face.

She glances towards Mathis at his desk and then towards Elizabeth with the scalpel.

Larrin pulls her gun.

Elizabeth tilts her head. "Why bring me back if you are just going to shoot me every time I make you angry?" Elizabeth asks.

Larrin scowls, but replaces her gun.

"I need to take her to Proculus," Mathis explains from where he stands.

"Why?" Larrin asks.

"Because I'm not going to help you until I know for sure that what Mathis has done is in fact complete and I know that I don't pose a threat, at least a Replicator threat, for those you wish me to contact," Elizabeth answers.

"I am going to scan her," Mathis further explains.

Larrin shakes her head. "There is no time."

"Then you will not get my help," Elizabeth retorts.

Another pause, as Larrin looks at the woman standing before her. Something strange flickers across the other woman's face, almost like amusement.

"Fine," Larrin answers. "You leave now."


	3. Chapter 3

Though never having set foot on Proculus, Elizabeth recognizes it from the reports. Peaceful, she thinks, making her way through the village, Mathis by her side, watching the children play, people shop, talk and, in general, living their lives.

Elizabeth feels an ache somewhere along the base of her spine.

People greet Mathis as they walk through the village. She receives curious gazes but no one questions her presence, an indication of Mathis' place in the society. He is someone not to be questioned, a chosen individual, and though people are friendly to him, there is an aloofness, an awe in their manner.

The chosen one, she thinks.

Mathis leads her to a small home on the outskirts of town. The house is well maintained, a yard growing with herbs and flowers, the stones leading to the doorway are clean, without a trace of dirt.

The door opens before they reach it, an older woman with streaks of gray in her long brown hair emerges, a smile on her face.

"Mathis, you've returned," the woman calls, coming towards them.

"Only for a short time, Mother," Mathis replies.

The woman gives her son a hug and then turns her gaze to Elizabeth. The smile she gives Elizabeth is warm and welcoming.

"Mother, this is Dr. Elizabeth Weir," Mathis introduces, turning slightly so the two woman are face to face.

Elizabeth smiles, watching to see if a handshake is appropriate, or some other way of greeting, but the woman disregards all formality, instead enveloping her in a hug as well. She smells of lavender and the smell causes a wave of homesickness, so strong as to be almost blinding.

The woman steps back and takes Elizabeth's hand. "Welcome, my dear, welcome. I'm Matilda, Mathis' mother. I didn't know my Mathis had taken a companion, but I am so very glad he did."

Elizabeth smiles to see Mathis face turn red.

"No, Mother, you misunderstand me. Dr. Weir is a patient of mine. I'm taking her to the temple," Mathis explains.

Matilda pauses, then waves a hand. "Oh, oh, well, then. I thought, oh well, no matter, first, let's get something to eat in you because I know that's why you came by, and get your companion some proper clothing for the trek. She can't go to the temple dressed in that manner, and with no shoes. What will the Goddess think of us?"

Within moments Elizabeth is sitting at a table with Mathis, watching as Matilda spoons soup from a large pot on a wood stove to smaller wooden bowls. Matilda places the bowls in front of Mathis and Elizabeth and then busies herself with cutting bread.

"I thought the bread in my lab probably didn't sustain you," Mathis explains, picking up a spoon and looking over at Elizabeth.

She glances up towards him, catches his eye and smiles. "Yes, thank you."

The soup is thick, filled with vegetables and some kind of meat. Elizabeth's stomach cramps in hunger.

She scrapes the bowl clean with her spoon, and only manners ingrained since childhood stops her from lapping the remaining broth up with a piece of the bread.

Manners do not, however, stop Mathis from doing just that and Elizabeth watches Matilda watch her son, pride clear in every line of the older woman's face.

"Good then?" Matilda asks, looking away from her son to ask Elizabeth.

"Yes, thank you," Elizabeth replies.

Matilda gives her another smile. "Good, good, well then, let's get you some proper clothing."

Matilda leads Elizabeth to a back room where she pulls from the corner an old trunk.

"There is some clothing in here, some of Mathis' sister's clothing, which I'm sure will fit you very well," Matilda says, opening the trunk with one hand.

Elizabeth watches Matilda pull from the trunk a flowing dress in earth tones and light blue.

"This should do," Matilda says, lying the dress out on the bed.

Elizabeth hesitates, but Matilda is going through the trunk once more and turned away from her. So, she goes to the bed, and, quickly shedding the tunic and trousers she wears, pulls on the dress. It is a little loose and a little long, but the fit is not entirely bad and the fabric does feel nice against her skin; nicer than her other clothing at least.

Matilda turns to look at her, a grin splitting her face. "Good, perfect. Much better."

She holds out a pair of boots made of soft brown leather and a pair of stockings. The stockings are very soft made of a material Elizabeth doesn't recognize, but she pulls them on and then the boots, which fit almost exactly.

Matilda stands up and surveys Elizabeth from head to foot. "Much better," she repeats.

Elizabeth gathers the trousers and tunic and follows Matilda back to the kitchen where Mathis is eating another bowl of soup. He stops eating when he catches sight of Elizabeth, a grin playing along his face.

Elizabeth suddenly feels embarrassment, heat rising up into her cheeks. She looks down at the dress, fiddling with the trousers and tunic in her hand.

Mathis coughs and pushes back from the table. "Well then, are we ready?"

Elizabeth nods and turns to Matilda. "Thank you, for the meal and for the clothing."

The older woman waves a hand. "No matter."

Elizabeth pretends she doesn't see the glimmer of knowing in Matilda's gaze.

The trek from Matilda's house to the temple takes them through the woods and up a hill. The going is not easy, but not entirely difficult either. Peaceful, she thinks again, listening to the birds in the trees, the sound of their boots crunching on the dirt path.

But long, and as they walk, Elizabeth finds herself studying the man who walks before her. Though not obvious all the time, Mathis' limp is more pronounced as they walk up the hill and Elizabeth wonders at it, just as she wonders at the scar along his jaw.

She wishes to ask him, inquire after it, but finds she is unsure of herself, which is ironic as the old Elizabeth Weir was rarely unsure of herself.

Of course, in the end, before the explosion, the old Elizabeth Weir was very unsure. Indecisive. Not sure what to do with her command and with the IOA. But that was a unique situation; a situation she knew she needed to change but very much did not want to. She didn't want to leave Atlantis, though, at the time, she realized it was time to let go and say goodbye.

But, in general, in most of her life, Elizabeth Weir always knew who she was and what she was.

Now, she doesn't know.

Even if she is human, even if somehow Mathis did what could not be done, does that make her who she was?

Or is she something different?

Something constructed?

Where are the lines of identity, the border between what is created and what is reality?

Elizabeth picks up her skirt as they came upon a series of stone steps, feeling the muscles in her legs as they climb upwards. That she can feel the muscles in her calves, her thighs, is something that surprises her and, though she wishes it were not so, delights her.

Because she feels human. The sun warms her skin to the point of being too warm and a line of perspiration gathers at her neck and the small of her back, and all of that is normal reactions, biological reactions, human reactions.

Human. What does it mean?

Gaining the top of the stairs, Elizabeth pauses for a moment to catch her breath, tilting her head upwards to catch the breeze along her face. The sky overhead is blue, white clouds floating in a picturesque manner.

So very different from the expanse of blackness, she thinks.

"This way," Mathis says, calling her back and Elizabeth follows him down a path that leads to a stone building built against the face of a cliff. She watches Mathis place his hand at a small terminal at the side of the door and, after a moment, the door opens without a sound.

He turns. "Please," he says, indicating she should go first.

She does, passing him to enter the interior of the building.

The area is much like Mathis' lab back on the Traveler's planet, but different as well, more... Ancient, Elizabeth thinks, looking at the room before her. Almost like Atlantis.

"This way," Mathis says again. She follows him past tables set up with Ancient technology to the corner where a scanner is set up, an exact replica of the one used in the medical wing on Atlantis.

"Please," he says.

Elizabeth props herself up onto the scanner bed and lays down, closing her eyes but listening as Mathis goes to the console and turns it on.

And then the hum, the low hum and the warmth as the scanner moves across her body.

He does it twice, the scanner making two sweeps before he shuts it off.

Elizabeth opens her eyes and then sits up, swinging her feet around so she is sitting on the edge of the scanner bed.

Mathis turns the Ancient console towards her and Elizabeth stares at it.

Perhaps it's because she doesn't want to believe, or perhaps because she feels it's too good to be true, but Elizabeth stares at the console with the image of her body on it for much longer than she needs to.

She knows what she is looking at, knows it because she has looked at countless such images of others. And she knows when the image is normal, without nanites or without parasites.

Normal. And what she sees is normal.

"Do you believe me now?" Mathis asks.

Elizabeth pauses, not because she doesn't believe him, but because to say it out loud might cause the image to disappear. Like a mirage in the desert.

Because what does it mean to be normal? What does it mean for her?

"Yes," Elizabeth finally says.

The smile that Mathis gives her lights up the room.

"So, you will help us?" He asks.

Elizabeth turns from the image on the screen. "I will speak with Commander Larrin." She shakes her head. "I cannot promise anything."

Mathis nods. "Of course. I understand."

Elizabeth looks back at the screen and wonders if he truly does.


	4. Chapter 4

Teyla finds him partially hidden under a puddle jumper, both legs sticking out from beneath the machine, the rest of him obscured from view.

"John," she says, quietly, leaning up against the puddle jumper.

He doesn't move. Teyla waits, listening to the silence of the jumper bay, the only sound the occasional ping of metal against metal.

She calls his name again, and when he still does not move, she walks over and pushes at his leg with the toe of her boot.

He immediately emerges, wheeling out from beneath the puddle jumper, earphones in his ears.

He pops the earphones out and gives her a smile, the grin lopsided on his face.

"Hey Teyla," he says, getting up, wiping his hands on his gray t-shirt. Stains cover the shirt as well as the jeans he wears. Officially off duty for the last three months, John's face is covered in stubble, his hair slightly longer, curling at his ears and along his neck.

He looks tired, Teyla thinks.

"I didn't know you were back in Atlantis, I thought you were still out sight seeing," John says, picking up the tools he was using and walking around back to replace them inside the jumper. His voice echoes in the quietness, against the hull of the jumper, against the vastness of the interior of the jumper bay.

"I returned several weeks ago," Teyla explains, walking around the edge of the jumper to watch John put the tools away. She knows John and Rodney have been working on the jumpers as a way to pass time, and knew she'd find him in the jumper bay when General O'Neil requested his presence.

"Kanaan and I were given the full tour of Earth. You have much on this planet," she continues.

"Yeah, and you say that as if it's a good thing," John snorts, closing the storage compartment and turning to face her.

"There are a lot of good things here on your planet," Teyla says gently.

"I guess," John shrugs. "So, what brings you to this abandoned section of the city?"

This is the question Teyla worried about as she made her way to the jumper bay. What to say to the man who has become her friend, a dear friend, someone she trusts with her life and the life of her son? She knows his reaction will be minimal, probably just a small twinge in his facial muscles, but suspects – no, she knows – the reaction will be a lot more complex, much more staggering than he will let on.

Rodney insisted he should find John and break the news, but everyone felt Teyla was better suited to the job.

But now, she is here and, unfortunately, still does not know what to say.

So, she says nothing at all. Explanation, after all, can come later.

"You are requested in the infirmary," Teyla tells him.

"What for?"

Teyla looks down at her hands grasped before her, and then back up to John. "General O'Neil has requested your presence," she says. Pauses, and then continues. "There is something you must see."

John is suspicious; she knows it as she knows the nerves that have gathered in her belly are a combination of dread and adrenaline. But he doesn't question her, trusts her, trusting that it is better for him to see whatever it is than for her to tell him.

His wipes a hand across his face, causing a streak of dirt along his cheek. "Do I have time for a shower?"

Teyla hesitates and then shakes her head. "No, I believe it would be best if you went now."

"Okay," John says, simply.

Teyla smiles. "Thank you."

They walk in silence to the transporter and once within the small space, the silence grows.

John finally turns towards Teyla, studying her.

"Is someone sick? Dying?" He asks.

"No," she answers as the door to the transporter opens to the hallway leading to the infirmary.

She feels John's confusion and feels an urge to tell him, to prepare him. But she doesn't, leading him past the main doorway to the secondary doorway that leads to the observation room. John knows where they are going, how could he not, having been there many times before, but he doesn't know the reason why.

Teyla again wonders if she should tell him. Wonders if she is being cruel.

The doors to the observatory opens and she walks in, John following her. Already in the room, standing in different formations of unease, are Rodney, Ronon, Dr. Keller, Mr. Woolsey and Colonel Carter. General O'Neil is absent.

The group turns to look at them.

"Whoa, the welcome committee," John says, a joke covering the tension in his voice.

Colonel Carter steps away from the group. She looks at Teyla who shakes her head, barely, but Sam understands, switching her gaze to John.

John looks at Carter in curiosity. "So, what's going on?"

"We received a transmission six hours ago, a transmission from the Pegasus Galaxy. It was brief, registering and then ceasing almost immediately. We weren't able to make a reconnection at the time, though we attempted to reestablish contact," she explains, standing in front of him. "Two hours ago, we received another transmission. This time the message came through," she continues.

And then pauses. Noticeably.

"It's Elizabeth," Rodney breaks in, suddenly, his voice tight.

John looks over at the scientist.

Rodney plays with the tab in his hand, fingers tapping against the side of it in a familiar agitated gesture. His face is drawn.

"What?" John asks.

Rodney nods his head towards the row of glass, that glass that allows a view into the room below.

"Elizabeth. It's her," he answers.

John hesitates and then goes to the window to look down into the room. There, sitting on the bed, is Elizabeth, or at least, someone who looks like Elizabeth. Dressed in a hospital gown, she sits on the side of the bed, legs dangling, staring off into space. Her hair is longer, falling down her back, but from his advantage point, she looks very much like the woman he used to know.

He feels something tighten in his gut, hardening against the inevitable hurt that will surely emerge from the situation.

"How do we know it's her?" He asks, not looking away from the window. His voice is calm, precise. He doesn't see Teyla flinch at it.

"Jennifer ran scans, I ran scans," Rodney says, looking down at the tab in his hand. "For all apparent purposes, that is Elizabeth Weir. Her DNA matches, her cell formation matches and…"

Rodney pauses and John looks over to him.

"And?" John asks.

Rodney looks up from his tab. "And there is not a single nanite active in her body."

John does not immediately reply.

He feels everyone's eyes on him, watching, observing, waiting to see what his reaction is or will be. It irritates him, a slash of annoyance, but he supposes it's only natural.

He wonders how many God-forsaken times he has to go through this particular scenario.

"What does she want?" He asks.

"To talk to you," Carter replies.

He does turn then, to glance at Colonel Carter and then at the others who are watching him. Rodney is the only one not looking at him, messing with something on his tab.

"She asks to speak to you before talking with anyone else, including me or a representative of the IOA," Woolsey said from where he stands in the corner.

"She came from the Pegasus Galaxy?" John asked.

Woolsey nodded. "Yes. During the last transmission, she sent through her IDC."

"And you trusted that it was her?" John asks, doubt clear in his voice.

"It was her voice, her IDC," Woolsey explained.

Rodney interrupted. "I was running a voice recognition program at the time, just out of chance. It confirmed her voice pattern as it came through."

"She was immediately placed under guard and transported to a cell," Woolsey continued. "Until we called Dr. Keller and Dr. McKay in to run tests."

Tests that confirmed the person sitting down in the room is Elizabeth, John thinks, looking again at the woman sitting below him.

"All right, well let's see what she wants," John says, turning to head out of the room.

Rodney makes to follow him, but Jennifer stops him with a hand on his arm, shaking her head slightly. Teyla sees it, just the same way she sees Ronon tense to follow but stop and Colonel Carter do the same thing. The only one who does follow is Woolsey.

Woolsey falls into step as John leaves the room and heads down the hallway.

"I can give you five minutes before I have to start recording the interview for the IOA," Woolsey says quietly, his pace matching that of the other man's.

John glances towards Woolsey. "You don't need to do that."

Woolsey frowns. "Yes, well."

They walk a few more paces in silence and then Woolsey continues. "Let's just say I have a hunch."

John shrugs. "You're the boss."

They come to the entrance of the observatory room and John finds himself wanting to hesitate.

To not go into the room.

To not push open that door, a door he has pushed open in the past only to have it slam in his face.

He still remembers everything and in remembering he cannot let go of it. To realize the woman on the other side of the door might indeed be the woman he once knew, that is something he doesn't want to allow himself to contemplate, but finds he does it anyway.

"Good luck," Woolsey said.

John nods, walking forward.

The door swooshes open and he takes a step into the room.

The door swooshes closed behind him.

Elizabeth looks up. The smile she gives him is hesitant, ensure, but when he doesn't immediately react, the smile turns into something else, something more professional, something a lot more like her diplomat face and a lot less like her personal face.

"John," she replies.

He takes a step further into the room. He is distinctly aware of the audience they have overhead.

"Woolsey will begin recording this conversation in five minutes," John replies and then wonders why he is telling her that.

But Elizabeth understands immediately, and though her body does not change positions, does not tense underneath the information, her face does, the skin at her jaw tightening.

"Un-Richard like," she murmurs to herself.

Continues, voice stronger, though quiet. "Atlantis needs to return to the Pegasus Galaxy."

"Atlantis will be going back to the Pegasus Galaxy once repairs are complete," John replies immediately.

Another flicker of a smile, this time harsh, cold.

"You know, as I know, that there has been plenty of time to repair whatever damages occurred to Atlantis, especially as the city is largely self-repairable. I have not forgotten how quickly those on Atlantis, in combination with the city, are able to repair whatever damages are sustained," Elizabeth says.

She leans forward ever so slightly. "John, the IOA has Atlantis back on Earth. All communication from the Pegasus Galaxy can be systematically cut off. Without Atlantis in the Pegasus Galaxy, without those from Earth stationed there, the information as to the location of Earth can remain hidden from the Wraith, or any other threat that might develop in the Pegasus Galaxy. Logically, to close the chapter on the Pegasus Galaxy makes sense from a military, and even civilian standpoint."

John knows what the woman before him says is true. He knows it because, though he has not wanted to admit it to himself or to anyone else, he came the same conclusion several weeks ago.

Coming to the same conclusion after being told that he should take some time off.

That he was not needed on Atlantis.

Elizabeth watches John closely. Though he holds his emotions in check she knows his face well, almost too well, and she can see the lack of sleep coloring the skin under his eyes, knows what the stubble along his jaw means.

Though he might not have admitted it to himself, she knows that on an unconscious level he understands what she is saying and agrees with it.

"But people are dying," Elizabeth continues. "The Wraith have ceased their civil war and have refocused their attention on the population. Entire planets are being wiped out and resistance is almost futile due to a lack of technological and strategic advantage."

The five minutes is almost over, the period of time in which Elizabeth can speak without fear of being recorded.

"You must come back," she says, her voice low, insistent. "Atlantis must come back."

John does not move from his position at the door, but his voice is just as insistent, just as laser sharp. "You know what you are asking? What it entails and what the end result could be?"

Elizabeth nods.

"The old Dr. Weir would not ask it," John continues. It echoes of another place and time.

He has said those words before.

Elizabeth tilts her head. The action is so familiar as to catch at John's chest and pull. Hard.

"I am not the old Dr. Weir," Elizabeth says finally.

John studies her, studies the tilt of her head, the line of her jaw, the curve of her neck. She is so familiar, her body so familiar, her voice and tone and the look in her eye. Those things, so familiar.

"Then who are you?" John asks and in his voice there is a bit of that catch. A bit of that emotion he refuses to acknowledge.

Elizabeth smiles then and in the smile there is an infinity of sadness.

"That," she says, quietly, the smile still along her lips, her eyes dark and piercing. "That I cannot answer."


	5. Chapter 5

He meets with Rodney in one of the labs that, since the arrival back to Earth, has been empty of all personnel and most equipment.

"She what?" Rodney asks, surprise clear in his voice.

John nods.

Rodney shakes his head and begins to pace, the small hand held device he carries everywhere clutched in his hand.

"That's not like her. What she's asking is mutiny. And there's potential danger to Earth, not to mention to anyone that actually goes through with the plan," he pauses his pacing, staring off into space and then turning to John. "It means stealing the city. Right under the nose of the IOA, under the nose of the military."

John puts a hand up. "Wait, Rodney, no need to get excited. She might be able to convince the IOA."

Rodney snorts. "Fat chance of that."

John makes a face and shrugs, knowing Rodney is right.

Silence descends on the room as both men lose themselves in thought.

John breaks it.

"You're sure it's Elizabeth?" He asks Rodney who has begun to pace again.

Rodney nods. "As sure as I can be."

"What does that mean?"

Rodney flashes John an annoyed glance. "What that means is that I'm as sure as I can be. Look, there are all sorts of different scenarios, but from what I can tell from the data, she is who she says she is right down to very genetic makeup, and though there are traces of nanites in her system, they are inactive."

"But how?"

Rodney shakes his head. "I have no idea, but I would love to find out."

**

Elizabeth waits in a sterile room.

She sits quietly, staring down at her hands grasped before her on the table. She isn't entirely sure what she is doing and in not being sure of what she is doing, there is a resulting lack of control she finds disturbing and, on some level, frightening. She was always one to be in control, always the one to make decisions and to lead. Even among the Replicators, she was a leader, a person of authority.

Behind her carefully emotionless face she grimaces at the thought of the Replicators.

A leader to their deaths, she thinks.

She puts that thought out of her mind.

Focuses on the now.

The question, she finds, is whether or not agreeing to come back to Earth, to request an audience with the IOA and with others, was the right decision to make. That she has potentially created a dangerous scenario is very much a possibility, and not only a dangerous scenario for those she has requested the help of, but all of Earth.

She closes her eyes, focuses on the intake and outtake of breath. Releasing her burdens, she thinks, the irony not lost on her.

That she isn't sure about her decision to comply with Larrin bothers her, but the images of the destroyed planets are still prevalent, a blight on her memory. The smell of burning buildings, of starving and rotting animals still strong in her nostrils, along the tip of her tongue.

She gagged when Larrin took her to one of the villages attacked by the Wraith. Standing in the middle of what was once the main street, the smell of burning was strong on the cool morning air, though the attack had happened over a month before. But more, was the smell of the animals that perished because no one was there to feed them.

Rotting in the hot afternoon sun for over month, not even the cool morning air could hide the stench.

And then there were the children. Hundreds of children, hidden off world, hidden away from the culling, their parents leaving them in what they thought would be a protected area, protected by the Travelers, the last technologically savvy race in the galaxy, or, at least, the last technologically savvy race with morals.

Only to have the entire population of children culled.

When Larrin recalled that incident to Elizabeth, she threatened Elizabeth once more if she did not help them. Larrin's emotions, her thoughts on the matter, were tightly controlled underneath the violence, but Elizabeth heard the message, heard what Larrin was passing along through her actions and words.

Our fault, Elizabeth knows, thinks.

The Wraith that Atlantis woke five years ago are slowly and systematically wiping out an entire galaxy's worth of population.

Our fault.

Elizabeth opens her eyes when she hears the door. She expects to see a representative of the IOA with more questions, though she has already gone through several hours of interrogation. But it is not a representative of the IOA, instead it is Ronon and that it is surprises her.

She waits for him to speak, but in his typical Ronon fashion he stands at the door and glares at her. For some reason this comforts her. It is normal. Right.

She lets the silence stretch.

"How many?" He finally asks.

Elizabeth studies him, tilting her head. "How many people?" She asks.

He nods once.

"According to Larrin's estimate, over five hundred thousand," she replies.

She catches the slight twitch along Ronon's left eye at the mention of the commander's name.

"You know Commander Larrin?" She asks.

He doesn't answer.

Elizabeth sighs and looks down at her hands, something strained flickering over her features.

"You think I'm lying?" She asks, not looking up.

"I didn't say that," Ronon answers.

"But, you do."

Another piece of silence, stretching outwards. She can hear herself breathe. She can hear Ronon breathe.

She finally looks up. He stands in the same position, arms crossed over his chest, looking at her.

"You have a way of showing up," he finally answers.

Elizabeth nods slowly. "That I do."

Another pause.

"Why are you here?" He asks.

"Because people are dying and because I feel that it is my duty to help them," she answers truthfully.

"But they are not your people."

Elizabeth looks Ronon in the eye, not flinching at the ill-concealed distrust there. She deserves it, after all.

"It doesn't matter," she answers.

Ronon doesn't reply though his gaze is harsh, intense. She withstands the gaze, not fidgeting, keeping her eyes locked with his.

He looks away first.

She watches as he turns and leaves the room without another word, the door closing shut on his immense form.

Elizabeth inhales deeply and then exhales. "Okay," she says to herself, looking back down at her hands.

The next time the door opens it is to admit Richard. He comes by himself and in his face is what Elizabeth expected to see all along.

He sits himself down across from her, leaning forward, his glasses glinting in the limited light from above.

"They have denied my request," Elizabeth says before Richard can say a word.

He nods. "They have, as you knew they would."

"Will they let me return to the Pegasus Galaxy?" She asks.

"They wish to question you further," Richard replies.

Elizabeth nods slowly. "No, then."

Richard does not respond, but Elizabeth knows it to be the case and knew it was coming.

"Well, it was worth a shot," Elizabeth continues, smiling slightly though the smile is false. "I guess my persuasion skills are not what they once were."

Richard does not smile in return, instead he frowns, lines forming in his forehead. "You are being transferred to Area 51, or, well, what is left of the facility."

Elizabeth feels the dread in her belly, along her arms.

She hides it.

"Thank you," she replies instead.

"For what?" Richard asks, clearly surprised at her reaction to the news about Area 51.

"For allowing me to at least present my information to the IOA," she explains.

Richard studies the face of the woman who sits across from him. He has always had a tremendous respect for Dr. Weir, a tremendous amount of respect, which did not decrease during their last interaction.

He still remembers the calmness of her voice before walking through the Stargate.

And sitting here and looking at her now, the woman with the face he remembers well, he wonders at the situation and wonders at her. Where he doubted her existence in another body, to see her face looking back at him, he finds that he believes her story and believes that it is in fact Dr. Elizabeth Weir sitting across from him.

He isn't sure if that is a good thing.

He isn't sure of a lot of things, in fact.

He stands up, holding his hand out. Elizabeth stands up as well and takes it.

"You are being transported tomorrow," he says, not letting her hand go, looking her straight in the eye. "A lot can happen between now and then," he continues, quietly.

Elizabeth squeezes his hand, her face carefully neutral.

"Thank you, Richard," she says.

He inclines his head and drops her hand.

As he leaves, two guards enter into the room, their faces harsh in the light.

"Please come with us," the one on the right says.

Elizabeth does so, following one guard, the other at her back.

The city, she thinks, as they make their way through the hallways, the feeling of the city around her familiar. Like home, she continues to herself, looking around, and the ache that accompanies that thought causes a tightness in her throat.

She finds she knows their location, knows the turns of the hallway and even the placement of the plants.

The city as it sleep, she continues in thought, as they pass more hallways, all of them empty, all of the lights dim. She knows where she is going, though the guards take her in a round about way, and she wonders on whose orders she is being placed in a room rather than in a cell.

She wonders if it is Richard pulling strings. Wonders if it is John who asked Richard to pull those strings.

The thought of John makes something inside twist into a painful knot.

The guards take her to the south tower, a room towards the top, ironically very close to where her quarters were once ocated, before, when she was leader and not prisoner.

She enters the room, looking around and is only somewhat surprised when the guards do not follow her into the room.

The room is largely empty. There is a bed, a desk, chair and the ever-present vegetation in the corners of the room. Afternoon light glimmers through the large windows along the far wall.

She walks towards the windows, her footsteps loud in the quietness of the room.

For some reason the quiet, the sound of her footsteps against the floor, those things remind her of first arriving in the city and walking through the hallways, going through the rooms. It was so quiet at first, the air stale and the feeling of deep silence prevalent throughout the city. Eventually that all changed, the silence replaced by voices, the quiet replaced by activity and all those dead plants replaced by living ones.

But at first, before they knew anything at all, just to walk the hallways of the city, then, in those moments, she felt like she was close to the Ancients. Like she could turn a corner and an Ancient would be standing there, waiting for her.

Something called to her then, something about the city spoke to her from the moment she stepped out of the Stargate, and even now, now when so many things have changed, she can still feel the city, as if it is a living and breathing presence.

She knows she isn't the only one. Knows that all the leaders feel it to an extent, and knows for a fact many of the different personnel does.

She knows John does.

Elizabeth looks out the window over the vast expanse of the bay and towards the Golden Gate Bridge. The position next to the American icon is somewhat ironic to her, the only other place more ironically fitting being perhaps the Statue of Liberty.

She puts a hand against the glass, feeling the warmth of the dying sun.

Too much land around the Statue of Liberty, she thinks, smiling slightly at her ridiculous thoughts.

Because really, there is so much more to be concerned about. She has no doubt she will be transferred tomorrow and has no doubt she will undergo test after test. At one point she was privy to the details of such tests and knows what is in store for her.

But she isn't so much worried about her future, or even uncertain; rather, she wonders if she was able to convince John of the extreme need of taking Atlantis back. That it would be an act of mutiny has not escaped her notice and she knows exactly what it is she is asking of him. But lives, so many lives, being taken, drained, because the Atlantis expedition occurred in the first place.

A responsibility to the people there, a responsibility created the moment they walked through the Stargate for the very first time over five years ago.

Such an argument did not convince the IOA, and she doesn't think such an argument convinced General O'Neil who is, she knows, a military man through and through. But John is different, John has always been different. And there is Rodney too and she believes, thinking on it, that Richard might also be on board.

She knows whatever John decides, Ronon and Teyla will go along with his decision.

But that is just a handful of people. A handful of people that will probably fail even if they do go against direct orders and return to the Pegasus Galaxy.

A handful of people that, though amazingly capable and talented, are, after all, just a handful of people.

She questions again her coming back. She wonders if she has misled herself, to think she could actually do anything at all, and then wonders if Larrin really understood the futility of the gesture. The futility of bringing Elizabeth back from her dark and cold grave.

Elizabeth drops her hand from the glass and leans her forehead there, closing her eyes. The sun is warm even through the glass and it feels good against her face, against her bare arms.

She doesn't hear John enter until he clears his throat behind her, and then it is as if every nerve in her body wakens, aware all of a sudden and all at once.

She turns from the window to look at the man who was her second in command and, in the spirit of being truthful to herself, a lot more. She is mildly surprised she is able to admit such to herself even now. She was in denial for a very long time.

Some things change, and some things do not, she thinks.

"John," she says, moving away from the window, out of the sunlight and partially into the shadows cast by the evening light.

"Elizabeth," he answers, pauses and then adds, "If that's who you really are."

Elizabeth smiles slightly.

"I suppose that's fair." She spreads her hands out in front of her. "I'm not going to try to convince you of who I am or who I'm not, the reality being that the message I came with is true no matter who might have brought it."

"But why you?" John asks, moving from the door, circling the room but keeping a distance between the two of them. Elizabeth notices it and ignores the feeling it causes.

"Because I knew the gate address," she answers truthfully.

John pauses. "Rodney said you were sent by Travelers, one of them wouldn't happen to be named Larrin?"

Elizabeth nods, also choosing to ignore the flash of irritation at the mention of Larrin. There is something there, she thinks, knows, because she knows him well and that has not changed.

"Yes. She is commanding this, expedition, I suppose you could say."

"But not who did whatever it is they did to bring you back?"

Elizabeth shakes her head. "No. That was a man named Mathis," she pauses and then continues. "A student of Chaya."

The surprise on John's face is apparent, though he controls it well.

"Chaya?"

Elizabeth nods.

"But, I thought she was sworn to not interfere with mortals other than those she protects and not even then," he says.

"I suppose she has made an exception," Elizabeth replies. And then cannot help but add. "I didn't know her as well as you did."

John does not miss the quip, or the slight tension in Elizabeth's voice.

He chooses to ignore both.

"Rodney is very interested in the process," he says instead.

Elizabeth smiles then. "Of course he is."

And some things don't change, she thinks, feeling warmth towards her old friend. Annoying, irritable and endlessly egotistical, Rodney was at least consistent and always consistent in his urge to do right. It was why she wanted him on the expedition so many years ago. Of course, it helped that he was a friend as well. A trusted friend, which was something she did not have many of back then.

And even less now, she thinks, looking at John before her.

John glances out the window. Though the sun is now fully hidden beyond the horizon, there is a glow still, the remnants of the day.

"Right now Woolsey is working to convince the IOA to at least hear from Larrin and others about what's going on," he says, not looking at her, but looking out the window. "He's working to convince them that the threat is real and once the Wraith wipe out the Pegasus Galaxy, they're coming here. That kind of threat will at least have them pausing in their decision."

Elizabeth shakes her head. "Richard said they've decided. He just came to speak with me."

John nods. "He went back to them after leaving you." John pauses again, a tension along his shoulders.

Elizabeth watches him and realizes suddenly he does not have a gun, at least not a P-90, though she is sure he is otherwise armed.

"He is trying to convince them you're needed here and not in Area-51," he continues finally.

Elizabeth shakes her head, which causes hair to fall in her face. She pushes it back with a hand, pushing it behind her ear. "That's good of him, but I'm not really needed here, and truly, I'm more of a hindrance than a help."

"You know what they'll do to you there?" John asks and the tension in his voice is palpable.

"Yes," she says quietly.

"And you're just… you're okay with that?" Strong emotion is there, covered by the disbelief in John's voice, but still there. Anger, Elizabeth thinks. Wonders at.

Elizabeth turns away from him then, to look out the window herself. "John, there is a galaxy being attacked by an enemy that, through my decisions, has become a vehicle for genocide. If my absence helps the IOA to make the right decision, my absence is warranted and even required."

A pause, as John looks at the woman standing before him. At the familiarity of everything about her, down to the way her hands fold onto themselves in front of her. In the tone of voice, in the profile highlighted by the limited light in the room.

"They don't trust you," John finally says.

Elizabeth turns from the window to look at John. "And you do?"

John pauses and answers. "No."

Elizabeth smiles slightly, sadly. "To them, to a lot of people, I am not Dr. Elizabeth Weir. I expected that, and I understand it as well."

John doesn't immediately say anything, silence heavy between them as he looks at her and she looks at him. There is a history of communication there. A trust that existed once upon a time. But who is she? They both wonder it, and they both wonder if what once existed between them can exist again. Or if either of them want it to.

There was a lot about that relationship that left them frustrated.

Elizabeth breaks the gaze first, glancing down at her hands.

"Richard said I am to be transferred tomorrow. Will you let me know what happens with the IOA, if they make a different decision?" She pauses, looks up, catches his eye once more and holds it. "Get me the information, somehow?"

The muscle in John's cheek moves, his jaw clenching and in its familiarity there is an ache that echoes through Elizabeth's chest.

"I will," he says finally.

"Thank you," she says.

John pauses and then nods. He studies her for a moment longer, a sweeping gaze that touches her face, along her body, lingering at her lips and then her eyes.

Elizabeth holds herself still underneath it.

Waiting.

He leaves without another word.

Elizabeth watches him go.


	6. Chapter 6

_Five years earlier –_

He found her in her office though the hour was pushing dawn and the rest of the control room was eerily quiet. Hesitating at the doorway, he watched her for a moment, noticing the way she was perfectly still underneath the silence of the morning; completely still except for a finger that tapped along side her laptop, her eyes moving back and forth with whatever it was she was reading.

Composed, he thought, watching her.

He cleared his throat, simultaneously knocking a the edge of the doorway with a knuckle. He grinned when she jumped, her head coming up sharply. His grin grew into a smile when her eyes narrowed into a momentary glare of irritation before clearing into their normal, boss-lady type gaze.

This one is carefully controlled, he thought, walking into Dr. Weir's office.

"You're up late, Major Sheppard," Dr. Weir said, pushing herself slightly away from her desk and folding her arms across her chest.

John tilted his head and looked at Dr. Elizabeth Weir. She was a civilian and in charge of this crazy and massive expedition, which, in his opinion, was a very interesting thing.

In a way, he was looking forward to seeing how she would handle herself. All ready he found he wanted to push her. Test her. See what she was made of and if he could push her. See how she would react without the training that kept the military so very civilized.

Of course, the fact that he knew he was on some kind of probation-not an official probation but nevertheless a probation-only barely stopped him from doing just that. It was also the reason, though standing at ease in front of her, he didn't perch himself on the corner of the desk like he wanted to. Just to be more familiar. Friendly-like.

He didn't think she would appreciate it.

That made him grin again, which caused a slight twitch along Dr. Weir's eye, which he caught, which made something inside him laugh.

"I am," he answered, his voice controlled despite the internal laughter.

"Any particular reason?" She asked and in her question there were a lot more questions. Like, any particular reason she should know about? Or, why was he there, in her office, in the first place?

"Couldn't sleep," he answered, which was an answer that actually surprised him even as he said it. The answer was truthful. He hadn't thought to tell her the truth. Not completely, at least.

But it was the right thing to say because instantly the woman sitting behind the desk relaxed ever so slightly. Though her arms were still crossed against her chest, the tension visibly lessened in her shoulders and she leaned backwards, to look at him more completely.

That, the gaze she now looked at him with, made him slightly uncomfortable and he resisted the urge to fidget.

"A lot of us are probably finding it difficult to adjust," she said, her voice soothing.

The voice irritated him.

John shrugged. "Not difficult, just don't need a lot of sleep," he answered, and in that, there was only a grain of truth.

He saw the slight tension reemerge. He found her reaction to his flippant statement a lot more fascinating than he probably should have. Equally fascinating was his sudden desire to ease the tension in her shoulders once more.

His reaction concerned him.

"Well, then, can I help you with something?" Elizabeth asked, sitting forward slightly.

John studied her for a moment. He studied her face, the line of her jaw, the way her hair was dark against her pale skin. That she had a commanding presence was not something new to him now, not after the event of the last several days, but he had never really looked at her. Yes, he had noticed her, after all he was who he was, but that kind of notice had been quickly shelved due to the knowledge of her control over him. Power over him.

He didn't much care for women having power over him. Professionally, he was okay with it, but personally, not so much.

Now, the other way around, that was a different thing.

He wondered if she would be one to give up power willingly and easily if outside her role as leader.

John mentally shook his head.

Verged onto another path.

"Shouldn't you be getting some sleep?" He asked.

The question surprised her, clearly, the surprise flickering across her features, in her eyes, before disappearing.

"I will. I have these reports that I'm finishing up," she answered, indicating the laptop before her.

John glanced out of the office and towards the huge windows just on the other side of the walkway. All ready a glimmer of daylight was falling across the expanse of water.

"You will, huh?" He asked, looking back at her, his voice doubtful and slightly reproachful.

The woman sitting across from him did not fall into embarrassment, or really, any other emotion at his familiar tone. Instead, she watched him in much the same way as he watched her.

Cat and mouse, he thought suddenly, and didn't like the feeling that maybe, perhaps, he was the mouse.

He moved. Perched himself on the corner of her desk.

That caused emotion in her face. Caused her to tense, another emotion in her eyes before they become calm and focused once more.

John felt better at the changing roles.

Cat, indeed, he thought.

Dr. Weir pushed herself away from the desk another couple of inches. Placing space between him and her.

He continued his pursuit. "You know, this place doesn't run if the leader isn't able to run it because she is burnt out from lack of sleep," he said. His was tone blunt.

He expected some kind of outrage from her. Some kind of comment about how he needed to keep his opinions to himself. Some kind of show of authority.

What he didn't expect was for the woman to smile.

It was a nice smile. Slow, languid, and just big enough to cause a noticeable reaction in his gut.

Damn, he thought.

"I could say the same of the Marines and their leader," she answered.

He shrugged. "I sleep," he said. Amended. "I've slept."

"Enough?" She asked.

He felt the grit in his eyes. The tiredness in his face. Bones.

"I'm fine," he replied.

"Me too," she countered immediately.

There was a moment, as both seemed look at the other for the first time.

They'd been through a lot, all ready, been through more than John had been through with most of his commanding officers. He respected her all ready. He respected her cool head and her ability to make quick and precise decisions.

There'd been moments, of course, moments when he questioned her authority, but he'd seen how she dealt with things, big things, things like the probable destruction of Atlantis, or the knowledge of the Wraith, or the death of men who she was in charge of.

Sitting perched on the side of her desk, John realized he respected her more than all of his commanding officers before her. Respected her as a leader and his boss.

And as for the twinge.

The twinge of something else.

The twinge currently twining about his spine as they stared at one another in the silence of the morning.

Well that particular twinge was just going to have to go away.

He got up. Suddenly. A swish of movement and air. It caused Dr. Weir to sit back in her chair, having, he realized, leaned over, towards him, closer to him, at some point in their silent communion without conversation.

"Well, I've got some rounds before breakfast," he said.

He felt her amusement, felt it thick in the air, though her face was carefully controlled and only a slight quirk to her mouth indicated the amusement.

"And I have the reports," she replied.

John nodded, once, quick. "Good morning, then," he said.

"Good morning," she replied, the quirk growing just slightly.

John turned and left the office, wondering why he'd went there in the first place. He hadn't really needed to.

But.

Well there had been a feeling, as if he'd known she would be there, working away in the early hours of the morning. As if he'd known exactly what she would be doing.

Of course, the knowledge, that kind of knowledge, was not necessarily out of the ordinary. He was picking up on her way of doing things. That was a good thing. If he was going to be reporting to her, he would be well served to know how she worked, how she reacted, how she did things.

He would be well served to know her. As his commanding officer.

Major John Sheppard walked down the hallway, towards his duties, towards the day, thinking about what he needed to do, what was required of him, and very much ignoring the twinge that was still, very much there.


	7. Chapter 7

The Stargate swirls blue in her dream, and when the guards come for her in the morning it takes her longer than it should to rise from the dream, to shrug it off. With their hands at her arms, guiding her along the hallway, she blinks away the sleep. Blinks away the dream.

It makes her uneasy, the dream. Though she doesn't remember it, the feeling lingers. Like being lost.

It is a feeling she knows. Understands. One she knew as a child.

Lost.

The dream wraps her brain in a freeze until she realizes the guards have taken her to a transporter and the transporter is opening to the control room.

In the control room Richards stands, John at his side and Rodney, Teyla and Ronon behind them.

Rodney gives her a crooked smile but doesn't say anything. Elizabeth smiles back and then switches her gaze to Richard.

"They have agreed to send a team back to the Pegasus Galaxy, to assess the situation and report back with further details," he explains.

Elizabeth's face lights into something akin to pleasure. It is not a look familiar to all those in the group, but is to specific individuals, and of those individuals, they cannot help but wonder at it.

The Elizabeth-nature of the smile she gives them.

"Excellent," she says.

She glances over to John who is studying her closely.

"Thank you, for letting me know," she says to him.

There is a pause. Elizabeth picks up on it immediately. She looks from John back to Richard and then back to John.

"You're coming with," John says finally.

Elizabeth frowns, not sure what to say.

She looks back to Richard.

He nods. "Yes. The IOA have agreed to allow you to accompany us."

Something like a smile flickers over Richard's features for a moment before he continues. "You know the gate address," he continues.

Elizabeth catches the reference. Doesn't know what it should indicate. If it is indicating anything at all.

"You're also less of a threat in the Pegasus Galaxy," John adds.

The comment is said in a bland voice, without feeling, but Elizabeth feels it like needles in her chest. She looks over to John, ignoring the flash of pain in Teyla's face, which she catches out of the corner of her eye.

Elizabeth meets John's gaze and in it there is something, an emotion, she does not try to identify.

"A good decision on their part," Elizabeth replies, her voice even.

Tension snaps in the room.

"Yes, well," Richard breaks in. "Shall we?"

A young technician is at the control panel, looking at Elizabeth expectantly. She nods slightly and goes to stand next to him. In front of her are the familiar symbols, the symbols that haunt her dreams along with so many other things.

She shrugs away the sudden remembrance of the dream and the chill it causes, reaching out and punching the gate address in.

Richard watches her, as does the others and she feels the looks along the back of her neck.

She works to ignore them. The intense scrutiny reminds her of other situations, situations long ago and in another life, facing enemies who wished those she represented dead and in the process, her as well. That she feels those kinds of emotions from the team at her back, along with her gut reaction to keep calm and composed even in the face of an enemy, shows the extent of the distrust in the room.

But then. She doesn't expect trust. Doesn't demand it. She understands the situation.

She glances over at Rodney, out of instinct perhaps, out of past knowledge incorporating with current knowledge. He is not looking at her, looking at his hand held device, but he must have felt her eyes because he looks up. His smile is instant and Elizabeth feels the nerves in her stomach ease slightly.

"All right, let's go," John interrupts, the Stargate active before them.

Elizabeth follows John and Rodney down the stairs, Richard at her side. She is distinctly aware of Ronon and Teyla behind her, following her.

She watches John and Rodney disappear into the blue event horizon and then she hesitates. For a moment. A second. Looking at the seemingly blue liquid. At the light playing off the surface. And in that moment, the lost feeling, the hopelessness of a situation she cannot control, faces her, drowns her.

A life that is no longer hers.

Her life. Not her life. Someone else's life.

Madness. Circling. Demanding.

She closes her eyes. Searches for a center. Inhales.

She steps into the blue.

Steps out into a desert landscape. In front of her John and Rodney sweep the desolate landscape with their P-90s, the heat creating shimmers along the brown expanse of earth, nothing spread out in all directions.

Elizabeth ignores the others, walking from the Stargate and around to the control panel.

Kneeling down, she pushes her hair out of her face as hot wind catches it and whips it about her eyes.

"What you doing?" Richard asks, coming up to where she is kneeling.

Elizabeth doesn't answer, instead she unsticks the communicator from the bottom of the control panel and stands up with it in her hand.

"Well that's antiquated," Rodney says as he comes up to stand behind her, looking at the device in her hand.

Elizabeth throws him a quick smile as she messes with the dials.

The static is instant, but almost as instant is a tone and then a voice.

"Larrin," the voice says.

Elizabeth leans down, covering the communicator with her hand to help with the wind.

"It's Elizabeth. I have a team here."

A pause. Then.

"Who?"

"Colonel Sheppard, his team and Mr. Woolsey," Elizabeth replies.

Elizabeth waits for a reply but instead of a reply there is static and then silence.

"What does that mean?" Rodney asks.

Elizabeth looks at the communicator in her hand and then back, but instead of Rodney she looks over his shoulder to John.

"They're coming."

And they do. Within minutes the Stargate activates and Larrin, along with three others including Mathis, walk through.

Elizabeth doesn't miss how Larrin immediately searches out John, or the reaction, though minimal, that crosses his face at her approach.

Something else adds to the nerves in Elizabeth's belly.

"You came then," Larrin says to John, stopping in front of him, her body angled close towards his. Familiar.

"You didn't think we would?" John asks in a bland tone.

Larrin jerks her head towards where Elizabeth stands. "She didn't."

John's eyes flicker to Elizabeth and then back to Larrin.

"She was almost right," John replies.

Rodney makes a waving motion with his hand. "This all well and good, this little conversation, but the wind and dust is killing my allergies. Can we leave now?"

Larrin looks over at Rodney with ill concealed annoyance and then nods. "Of course, this way."

She leads them back through the Stargate and onto a planet that is the direct opposite of the desert; lush green dripping with moisture.

Waiting for them is a small ship.

"How are you feeling?" Mathis asks quietly, coming up to walk next to Elizabeth.

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He looks genuinely concerned and in his concern she feels a spark of warmth.

"Okay," she replies quietly.

"Has the weakness dissipated?"

Elizabeth nods. "Yes, for the most part."

Another pause as they walked up the ramp to the inside of the ship. She watches John go up front, talking with Larrin, Richard listening.

Teyla and Ronon take a seat.

Rodney types away at something on his hand held device.

Normal. She thinks. Looking at the team.

But then she looks at Larrin and John.

She wonders what Larrin is telling John, their bodies speaking of a tense competition between them, and she wonders about the story.

About who they are.

And then realizes it doesn't really matter. Or. It shouldn't.

"If it's all right with you, I'm going to want to run tests when we get back to my lab, just to make sure you're all right. It will not take very long. I just want to make sure you are okay and not over doing it," Mathis says, bringing Elizabeth's attention back to him.

"Of course," she says and then spies Rodney who is no longer looking at his hand held device and is looking over at them. Elizabeth barely contains the smile as her friend zeros in on the man sitting next to her, the man who is the reason she is sitting and having a conversation.

Rodney joins them and soon Rodney and Mathis are in conversation on how exactly Elizabeth is once more amongst the living.

Elizabeth lets their voices move over her. Closing her eyes for a moment. Listening to the sound of the engine. She thinks. The ship is louder than the puddle jumpers, louder even than Atlantis in the air.

She opens her eyes at the thought, as if to bid them away.

The take off of from the planet is smooth and she isn't surprised to find Larrin is an excellent pilot.

Much like John, Elizabeth thinks, leaning back against the seat's back. She looks up towards the front, at the two pilots.

John is grinning at Larrin.

Elizabeth closes her eyes once more.

Elizabeth finds herself dozing and in her semi-sleep she sees that swirling blue Stargate once more. The combination of Rodney's voice, the drone of the ship and the blue of the Stargate mesmerizes her and she feels detached. Like she isn't there. Right then. But somewhere else.

Somewhere far away.

"You did not sleep last night?" Teyla asks, causing Elizabeth to open her eyes and the vision to disappear.

The woman she once called a friend, and whom she still feels is a friend though the situation has changed, looks at her and in Teyla's eyes there is concern. Compassion.

Elizabeth is not surprised by the reflection there, but wonders at it, wonders at the woman before her.

"I slept some," Elizabeth replies. She tilts her head, looking at Teyla. "How is your son?"

Teyla responds immediately with a glow about her face. "He is good."

Elizabeth nods. "I'm glad."

Elizabeth sees Teyla hesitate and she waits. Elizabeth remembers another conversation between them, before, when she was in another body, when she did not have the familiar face and the familiar body. Teyla was not so easy then. Not so ready to bring up a conversation or to talk about her son.

Appearances really do make a difference, Elizabeth thinks, a twist of irony echoing through her thought.

Teyla continues after the pause. "Making the decision to continue with Colonel Sheppard's team was a difficult one to make," she says quietly.

"I can only imagine," Elizabeth replies. This time Elizabeth pauses before continuing. "I'm glad you did thought, and I'm sure John was relieved."

Teyla nods. "He seemed to be."

"You have always been an essential part of the team, both you and Ronon."

"You were an essential part of the team as well," Teyla quietly remarks.

The comment is well intended, but something about it makes Elizabeth cringe inwardly. Like it is an unfair statement. False. A lie.

Teyla continues. "I know that last time, I was not as… friendly as I might have been. I want to apologize for treating you in the manner in which I did."

Elizabeth shakes her head, causing hair to fall in her face. She pushes it behind her ear and wonders again if she can convince Mathis to let her cut it.

And then wonders why she should seek Mathis' permission to cut her hair.

"It was a completely understandable reaction," Elizabeth responds.

"Still, not appropriate."

Elizabeth reaches out and places a hand over Teyla's hand. The other woman does not flinch, does not back away as she did before. As she did when Elizabeth's essence was placed in another body.

That she doesn't flinch is both a concern and a relief.

"Thank you," Elizabeth says. "Thank you for always being a friend. I never got to say that as much as I should have."

Elizabeth glances past Teyla to where John sits in the cockpit with Larrin. Teyla does not miss the glance, nor the expression that flits across Elizabeth's face.

"John will come around," Teyla replies quietly.

Elizabeth looks quickly away from John and back to Teyla, feeling something like a blush tinge her cheeks. But though emotion is there, her gaze is steady and her voice as well.

"He has no need to," she replies.

"We are coming up on their ship," a rough voice interrupts.

Elizabeth looks over to Ronon, who is staring at the two women. Elizabeth withdrawals her hand from Teyla and Teyla stands up to join Ronon at the front. The conversation between Mathis and Rodney also ceases as all on board watch them approach the Traveler's ship.

Elizabeth expected for them to be taken to the planet where Mathis' lab was, and that they are not making their way to the planet but to the Traveler's ship indicates something.

Elizabeth gets up from her seat and goes to the cockpit. She feels John glance at her, but she focuses on Larrin.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asks.

Instantly she can feel tension surrounding her as the others pick up on her voice and her words.

Larrin glances over her shoulder in irritation. "Why would there be something wrong?"

"Because we are not going to the planet, but being transported to your ship," Elizabeth immediately replies.

There is a pause as Larrin refocuses on her approach.

"Something you need to tell us?" John asks Larrin, his voice deceptively mild.

Larrin sighs. Loudly. Glancing over at John.

"There was an attack on one of the neighboring planets. We are going to check it out. That's all," she explains.

Elizabeth doesn't think that is all and, glancing at John, she knows John is thinking the same thing. But it is a wait and see situation, and she knows it and she knows John knows it.

So she goes back to her seat.

"What was that about?" Rodney asks her when she sits down.

"We are going to survey an attack on another planet," Elizabeth tells him.

Rodney nods. "Oh." Not thinking there is anything unusual about it.

But Mathis does, his face not able to hide the alarm and Elizabeth wonders if she should press him. But she doesn't as their little ship eases into the docking bay of the larger ship.

The group is greeted by several armed individuals, all of which watch the group descend with distrust in their faces, in the muscles holding their weapons steady at their side.

"Quite a welcoming crew," John says to the foray. "What, you don't trust us?"

"Just in case," Larrin replies. "After last time, we won't take any chances."

"Wait, what? We helped you last time," John says, indignation dripping.

Larrin shrugs and gives him a look.

Elizabeth wonders when they're going to start arm wrestling, or worse yet, wrestling for real. She fights the urge to roll her eyes or interject some comment.

"Are they always like that?" Mathis asks her quietly.

Elizabeth shakes her head. "I have no idea."

"Yes," Rodney answers for her, his voice dry.

Mathis nods slowly, watching John and Larrin ahead of them. He looks over to Elizabeth who is also watching them.

"Did you know there was a history between them?" He asks.

"No," Elizabeth replies. She glances towards Mathis. "I've not been in a position to know such details for a couple of years now."

Mathis gives her a slight smile. "Right. Sorry."

The group enters into a dining room type area and there they are greeted by a group of Travelers. Mathis leaves her side for a moment to talk to a small woman standing at the doorway.

Elizabeth scans the crowd, judging the mood.

Anger. She thinks. But not anger at them, anger outwards, towards something else. But underneath the anger. Panic. Stress. And sadness. Fear.

She swallows on the feeling in her throat and lets Mathis guide her to a set of chairs towards the back of the room. She goes, though she wishes to follow John and his team towards the front where Larrin is taking them.

Woolsey follows her, a silent shadow whose presence she is glad of, though she never thought that would be the case.

Voice erupt as soon as Larrin takes her place at the front of the room, John's team just to the side of her.

"What are we going to do?" Someone calls out and in his voice the panic is real and piercing.

Larrin glances towards the voice and then scans the room. Elizabeth admires how the woman takes control and knows that once upon a time she was able to do just that.

"We'll send a rescue team after them," Larrin replies calmly.

"But they think that the villagers are responsible," another voice says.

Elizabeth watches as John detaches himself from his team and leans towards Larrin. There is a grumbling as he mutters something. She replies back. Sharply. He says something else and then straightens, stepping back a step.

Larrin continues.

"If the villagers are responsible, we'll take care of it," she says.

Elizabeth turns to Mathis. "Was it a Wraith attack?"

Mathis nods, watching what is taking place before him with an expression of concern and fear.

"What planet?" She asks.

Mathis looks away from the crowd and towards her. "It is the Freelan people," he says. "Their town has been attacked, but not a normal culling, something else. It was said that they had survivors of the plague there in the town, but even that explanation does explain everything."

Elizabeth frowns, the name sounding familiar. She quickly establishes the connection. "A small town of perhaps a couple thousand, next to a sea they call the Endless One? Their leader's name is Paulroy?"

Mathis frowns, watching her. "I believe so."

Elizabeth stands up and the abrupt nature of her movements cause several people to take notice, including Larrin. The woman frowns at her.

"Perhaps I can be of help," Elizabeth states clearly, her voice carrying across the room.

There are some who know who she is among the group, but many do not and there is a wave of muttering as questions are thrown around.

"Explain," Larrin says.

"I know these people. I have had, in the past, diplomatic relations with the leader of that town. We provided aid to them for several months after their town was hit by a hurricane."

"The leader that is a Wraith worshipper?" Someone asks in the crowd, doubt in their voice. Accusation.

Elizabeth narrows in on the voice and sees a tall and thin man, his dark eyes piercing and the dim light shining off of his baldhead.

Elizabeth keeps her gaze on him, steady but non-threatening.

"It would make sense, even if he is a Wraith worshipper, that he would trust someone who he has dealt with in the past. We were on good terms and there would be no reason for him to believe that such terms have changed. Let me contact him, see if he will speak with me. If he declines my offer, it will not harm anything; however, if he agrees to speak with me, it will give you more information to use," Elizabeth explains.

There is a pause as the room thinks about what she says and Larrin stares at her.

Elizabeth feels John's gaze on her.

She does not look in his direction.

"Fine," Larrin says. "You can contact him, but you'll have to go on foot, their communication is down. And, I won't risk any of my people, so you go in alone. If what you say is true, there won't be any danger to you. If you're lying…" Larrin breaks off. Shrugs.

Elizabeth nods her agreement even as John's team stirs.

Elizabeth sees Rodney open his mouth to speak but Teyla places a hand on his arm and he shuts it.

"What are you doing?" Richard hisses from the seat next to her.

Elizabeth ignores him. Instead, she catches John's gaze from across the room and holds it. There is a question in his eyes and she understands the question. But, she doesn't know how to answer it.

He looks away.

"We'll take her," he tells Larrin.

The woman is going to argue, Elizabeth sees it but something passes between Larrin and John and the woman just nods once.

"Fine. It's arranged. You can take one of the smaller ships to a neighboring planet, gate from there," she replies.

John nods. "Much appreciated."

Larrin does not answer, instead she leaves. Elizabeth wonders what annoyed the woman more; her volunteering to go to the planet or John insisting that he go with.

With Larrin's departure those in the room slowly disperse, a flow of voices leaving the area until it is only John's team, Elizabeth, Richard and Mathis.

"Are you sure about this?" Mathis asks, placing a hand on her arm.

Elizabeth looks over at the man and nods.

"I need to help," she replies in a rare instant of absolute truth.

Mathis' eyes soften, a smile flickering. "Of course. But, please know that I am going to require those tests as soon as you return."

Elizabeth smiles in return. "I almost look forward to it."

This time it is Mathis who blushes, shaking his head slightly before also leaving the room.

"Well, this is a fine situation," Richard says next to her, his voice slightly grim.

Elizabeth turns her smile on him.

"An adventure," she says.

He just gives her a look.

"Well that was almost like old Elizabeth," Rodney says lightly as the team joins Elizabeth and Richard.

"It was an advantage," Elizabeth replies to Rodney a matter of factly.

"Could be dangerous. Could be a trap," Ronon says. His scrutiny is intense but Elizabeth does not respond to it.

Instead she nods. "Yes. But not a trap that I've set."

"He didn't mean that," Richard immediately answers.

Elizabeth catches Ronon's eye. "Of course," she replies, though she sees that is exactly what Ronon means.

Elizabeth continues. "There'll be no need for the team to go all the way with me anyway. Fly me to the neighboring planet and I will go in by myself. Paulroy knows me, there will be no danger."

"No," John says immediately.

Elizabeth glances over to John. He is walking slightly ahead of her and she can't make out his expression.

"This is not a decision under negotiation," Elizabeth replies.

John doesn't immediately answer as the group walks out of the hallway and into the docking bay. A series of battered old ships lay before them. At the far end, three men are preparing one for departure.

They walk towards the far ship.

"John?" Elizabeth continues as he walks silently forward.

He glances at her. "Negotiating is overrated anyway," he replies.

Arriving at the ship, Elizabeth is not able continue the conversation as John goes to talk with the three Travelers.

"Can that thing even fly?" Rodney asks, standing next to her, his voice filled with doubt.

Elizabeth, who was staring at John, glances at the ship at Rodney's remark. Indeed, the ship is not in very good shape, but she is fairly certain that it will fly. She doesn't think Larrin is one to sabotage the very team she went through so much trouble to get back in the first place, even if she is less than happy about the current situation.

Rodney continues to grumble as they make their way onto the ship. It creaks with their weight and his face noticeably loses color.

Elizabeth reaches over and takes Rodney's hand, squeezing it.

"We'll be fine," she says.

He nods, though he doesn't look very convinced. Elizabeth smiles and goes to take a seat in the front of the ship.

Elizabeth does not broach the conversation with John again until John has piloted them out of the ship's bay and into open space, heading towards the planet with a Stargate.

She is sitting in the co-pilot seat, the others behind them.

"I am serious about this," she says quietly in John's general direction, beginning the conversation at where they left off.

"Yeah?" John replies, off hand.

Elizabeth resists the urge to growl at him. She turns in her seat, to face the side of him, leaning forward slightly.

"John. Think. This is foolish, to have been allowed to come here to help, only to be killed for this."

"Then I wont get killed," he replies immediately.

Elizabeth looks out towards the vast expanse of blackness. The stars twinkling in the distance. She shivers, recalling the freezing nature of that space.

She looks back at John.

"No," she says. "I can't allow you to do this."

John's gaze flickers towards her and back again. Staring forward.

"I don't take orders from you anymore," he says.

"Common sense, then."

In Elizabeth's voice there is almost a note of pleading. Almost.

"For your team," she adds.

Silence stretches out between them.

Behind them, Rodney and Richard are arguing about something, Teyla interjecting comments.

Elizabeth focuses on the side of John's face.

Willing him to see the sense in what she says. Willing him to just agree with her.

John finally looks towards her, his head turning. Inwardly, Elizabeth flinches at the look in his eyes.

"You will not go into this alone," he says.

His voice is low. Controlled.

Elizabeth's chin raises in defiance of it.

"No," he replies this time, sharp. "You will not. I will not send you into a situation where you could be killed."

A pause. His throat working.

"I will not lose…" He continues. Stops.

Pauses.

A muscle in John's cheek bunches, emotion flashing sudden, quick, heated across his face before smoothing out.

"I'm coming with you," he says. Corrects. "We are coming with you."

The words are a matter of fact. His tone is quiet and without emotion. Final.

But in his eyes is something that Elizabeth remembers and as he looks away Elizabeth feels her body respond with a contraction of emotion she knows and is still very familiar with.

Once upon a time she hated those emotions, her reaction to John, the stutter in her chest and the tightening in her belly, and finds, looking away from John and outwards once more, she is still not very fond of them.


	8. Chapter 8

The walk from the Stargate to the town along the water is a short one, but Elizabeth finds that her energy levels are not as high as they once were and she resists the urge to call for a stop just so she can catch her breath.

It irks her, that her physical body is responding in a normal human matter, and then finds it ironic that it irks her.

Grass is always greener on the other side, she thinks, catching herself as she trips over an exposed root.

The trip saves her life.

A bullet whizzes over the top of her head and lodges in the tree immediately behind her.

"Gunfire," John calls from where he is at the front of the procession, diving downwards.

A large hand grabs at her arm and pulls her down towards the ground. She falls against Ronon's solid body, the wind knocked out of her.

"Sorry," he mumbles, even as he is rolling away and onto his stomach, taking shots with his weapon towards the general direction of where the gunfire emerges from a tree line about twenty yards away.

Elizabeth doesn't answer, he is all ready moving anyway, instead crawling to where Rodney is crouched behind a fallen log. His fingers fly over the keys of his handheld device, his P-90 largely forgotten next to this side.

They both duck as gunfire hits the tree in front of them, spraying bark in every direction.

"What is it?" She asks, looking towards where John and Teyla are responding to the gunfire with a steady stream of their own, Ronon just to the side of them.

"A large power source," Rodney mumbles, throwing his hand up as another spray of gunfire is directed towards where they hide behind the trunk.

"Atlantis large?" Elizabeth asks.

Rodney nods, his face lined with puzzlement. "Yes. Atlantis large. But that is impossible."

A shout echoes through the trees, over the gunfire. Instinctively Elizabeth looks towards the sound of the shout, turning her body away from Rodney, exposing herself for just a moment of time.

The moment is long enough. The dart is piercing, like white fire in the column of her neck.

She hears Rodney shout her name in alarm and then all goes black.

She wakes to freezing water being dumped over her head. For a moment she feels like she cannot breath and her mind panics, her body resisting against the ropes at her chest, ankles and wrists, her eyesight narrowing into a pinprick of reality.

Pain erupts across her face as someone slaps her, the sound echoing, her head whipping sideways.

She tastes blood in her mouth.

She closes her eyes at the pain, at the frigid water dripping down her back and then opens them, turning her head to look at the assailant before her.

She does not recognize the man standing there. He is of medium height and build, dark hair over a pale face, dark eyes staring at her intently. He wears a green uniform that closely resembles those of the Genii.

"So, this is a bit of luck," a soft voice calls from the darkness.

Elizabeth looks past the man in front of her and towards the shadow where the voice comes from. She watches as another man, this one taller than the first and dressed in black emerges into the limited light cast by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling of the room.

The man walks towards her, stopping when he is just behind the other. The smile he gives Elizabeth is oily, snake-like.

Elizabeth recognizes the smile though she does not recognize the man.

The man brings his fingers together, putting them against his lips as he looks at the woman before him.

"I did not think I would be so lucky as to ever capture those who populate the great city," the man begins. "But then, my luck has always been exceptional."

Elizabeth's mind works over his words, glancing around the room. It is only her and the two men before her.

"The others?" She asks, swallowing on the scratchy nature of her throat. "The rest of my team?"

"I will get to presently. Though I have all ready had a nice conversation with your John Sheppard. He is a stubborn one."

The cold is instantaneous. A dark and frigid fear that starts at the base of her spine and wraps its way around her spinal cord.

"If you hurt him," she says, her voice low, her face flushed.

The man laughs. "You'll what, exactly? I am somewhat in control here, even if you do have power over the great city."

"You know who I am, then?" Elizabeth asks.

The man steps around the other, dropping his hands before him. His black hair glints in the light. His dark eyes do as well.

"The information I have been provided indicates that you are Dr. Elizabeth Weir. Though the informant was not entirely sure how it was that you are alive, seeing that you are supposed to be dead, killed in some kind of explosion," the man says.

"Your informant?" Elizabeth asks.

The man smiles once more. Elizabeth flinches and then curses herself for flinching.

"Is my informant and really neither here nor there. More. I want information," the man pauses, the smile never leaving his face. "And you will provide it for me."

"What kind of information?"

"Information that will allow me access to Atlantis."

Elizabeth studies the man before her. "Who are you?"

The man smiles and his smile is not pleasant. "That really does not concern you either, though I am called Malroy."

"And you want to access the city?"

A slight shrug of his shoulders. A ripple of cloth. "In short. I aim to take the city and you are going to help me do just that."

Elizabeth shakes her head, working her arms back and forth to relieve some of the pressure at her wrists. The rope burns at her skin but she ignores it.

"That won't be possible," she tells him.

The smile drops from the man's face. "You don't help me with this, your friends die."

Elizabeth shakes her head. "No. I didn't say I wouldn't. I said it won't be possible. I can't help you."

"Explain." The voice is cold. Frigid.

Elizabeth hesitates, wondering if she should admit that Atlantis is no longer within the Pegasus Galaxy and then thinks it probably best not to divulge such information.

"I am no longer in charge of Atlantis. To them I am nearly an enemy. I can't help you," Elizabeth replies.

She hesitates and then continues. "I no longer have power there."

The man tilts his head, causing dark hair to fall over his shoulder. "See, that's where you are wrong. I think you have a great deal of power and I think this is just a story. A lie you are telling me."

Elizabeth feels herself still as the man walks slowly towards her, a predatory look on his face. His stride is silent, the dark clothes he wears merging him with the shadows of the room, his face blank of emotion.

He stops only a foot from where she is tied to the chair. He leans down slowly so his face is even with her face. He smells of winter, of coldness and unlife and in his face, along eyes so dark that there is no beginning and end to the iris, the same darkness echoes.

He raises a finger, the finger lingering a fraction above her skin, the tension building in her muscles, in her stomach. Lingering

Then.

The tip touching, lightly, against the skin of her temple before caressing along the side of her jaw, from her ear to her chin.

The tip of his finger is likewise cold and smooth.

It causes a shiver along her skin, a jerk in her body.

The man sees it and his eyes grow colder.

He leans towards her, closer still, their breath intermingling. His eyes catch her eyes and holds them.

"I know power," he whispers towards her, the taste of his breath along her lips. "I know when I come across someone with power. Strength and commanding. Those are things I admire. Things I covet."

A pause as he looks away from her gaze, breaks it to trace the lines of her face. Elizabeth watches him, her eyes flickering down as his tongue touches the top of his lip and then disappears.

Her eyes jerk back to his as his hand sweeps back strands of wet hair from her forehead, the palm of his hand lingering along her cheek.

"Those are things that I make my own," he says, his gaze lingering along her face before capturing her eyes once more.

Quietly. Instantly. "You will give me what I want Dr. Elizabeth Weir."

Elizabeth tries to breath slowly. Tries to stop the rush of her heartbeat and the sound of it in her ears.

"And if I don't?" She asks just as quietly.

Though his eyes hold hers and she cannot see it, she knows the man smiles by the light in his dark eyes.

"You will," he says.

And then closes the gap between them, pressing cold lips against hers. A brief moment. A touch.

It burns. It turns the world dark.

Elizabeth resists the urge to scream.

The man straightens slightly. In his face is something Elizabeth does not want to recognize. An emotion she does not want to see.

"We'll discuss this later, after you get some rest," the man says and then, with a movement so quick as to be nearly invisible, stabs Elizabeth with another dart.

When she wakes again she is in a different place lying on a cot. Her head aches with a fierce pain and her mouth feels dry, her throat hurting as she inhales and exhales oxygen.

She turns her head, scanning the room, pausing to see John standing at a barred window looking out.

He hears her movements and turns from where he stands. His face his haggard and along one side is a bruise dark even in the limited light.

Elizabeth breathes in deeply before sitting up, ignoring the cry of her muscles and the pounding of her head to swing her legs around to the side of the cot. Dizziness assaults her, nausea ripe in her belly. Elizabeth swallows against those things.

"Did he hurt you?" John asks. His voice is level. Without emotion.

Elizabeth shakes her head and then wishes she had not.

"No. Just the affects from the tranquilizer," she answers.

A pause, as she feels John study her face.

"He hurt you, though," Elizabeth states.

"Nothing that won't heal," John answers.

"And the others?"

John shakes his head, moving away form the window and taking a seat on the cot positioned directly opposite to Elizabeth's.

"I don't know," he answers.

Another moment of silence, both lost in their thoughts.

Elizabeth puts a hand at her temple and rubs there. The action causes her to remember the Malroy's own actions and she lets her hand drop, a chill developing.

"What happened?" She finally asks.

"You don't remember?"

Elizabeth tries to recall the events but all she can remember is exiting the Stargate.

"No."

John tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies her. "Are you sure you're okay? I mean, what does that body, or, well, how does that body…" John's voice trails off.

"This body seems to act like any other human body," Elizabeth answers for him.

"But you don't remember?"

"No. Perhaps the tranquilizer does that."

John nods in response, looking around the room. He gets up from the cot and goes back to the window.

"We were under attack, taking gunfire. You were the first to be hit by the tranquilizer dart, followed by Rodney and I guess I was next. I'm not sure if Teyla and Ronon were also hit or managed to escape."

"They wouldn't have left us," Elizabeth says.

John grimaces. "Yeah. They really need to get their priorities straight. Anyway. I woke up here to Mr. Nice Guy and Mr. Nice Guy's assistant."

"Richard will send someone, when we do not rendezvous back to the ship. He will alert the Travellers."

John shakes his head slightly. "Not that they will do anything."

"They might."

"You are overly hopeful."

"Optimistic."

"Whatever. The fact remains is we are stuck down here with some manic and we don't know what happened to Rodney, Teyla and Ronon."

"Malroy," Elizabeth replies.

John turns. "What?"

"That's his name. The man in black. Malroy. Do you recognize it?"

John shakes his head. "No. I didn't recognize either men, or the name, though they look like Genii."

"No, I don't think so," Elizabeth replies. "The man in green is in a uniform that looks Genii, but the markings are off, not to mention the make is different, the stitching slightly irregular."

John snorts. "You noticed all that."

Elizabeth shrugs. "Details are what I do," she pauses, blushing suddenly. "Or did."

John ignores her stumble. "So, not Genii. And the name doesn't mean anything for you either?"

"No."

John frowns.

Elizabeth gets up from her cot and on unsteady legs goes to join him at the window. The view is non-descript, concrete with a small amount of daylight above. "A tunnel?" She asks, turning slightly and realizing that to look out the window she has come much to close to John.

She steps back slightly.

John doesn't appear to notice.

"It looks like it," he replies, straining his neck to look upwards. "Though I cant make out where it leads or how far down we are."

Elizabeth bites her lip. "Last time I was on this planet, I didn't see anything that would allow for this kind of structure. It is either very well hidden from the main town or we are somewhere else."

"We're probably not even on that planet anymore," John replies.

"You think they moved us?"

John looks away from the window and back to the woman before him. "It's what I would do."

Elizabeth grimaces. "Wonderful."

She turns away from John and the window and begins to pace, partially out of a way to think, but also because she hopes that pacing will help the numbness in her legs and make the feeling of being so incredibly tired go away.

John watches her pace.

"They want Atlantis, or he wants Atlantis," Elizabeth says. "Sort of ironic; that is, he wanted my help in delivering Atlantis to him."

"What did you tell him?" John asks and in his voice there is an edge.

Elizabeth stops her pacing and glances at John. "Nothing," she bites out, perhaps a bit shorter than she might normally.

Silence. Between them. For a moment.

"He wanted to know about you, asked me about you" John says as Elizabeth resumes her pacing.

"About me?"

John nods, still feeling the hardness of anger at Malroy's questions. "All about Dr. Elizabeth Weir."

Elizabeth shakes her head. It causes a piece of hair to fall in front of her eyes and she absently pushes it back with the palm of her hand. It is an incredibly familiar gesture, one gesture of many that is making it very hard for John to remember that the person pacing back and forth in the small room is not the original Dr. Elizabeth Weir.

"Do you know why?" Elizabeth asks.

John shakes his head. "No."

Elizabeth frowns, stops pacing and bites her lower lip again. It feels hot and swollen and she wonders if the side of her face is bruising like John's.

"Do you?" John asks.

Elizabeth does not immediately answer and John frowns.

"Elizabeth?" He asks.

She wonders if he realizes that he has called her by her first name and then shoves the thought to the back of her head.

"I don't, not really," she says.

"But you have a theory?"

"A theory, but not one that I necessarily want to be correct."

"Are you going to share?"

Elizabeth flashes an annoyed look at the man and starts to pace once more. "He said something about power, about coveting power."

"Yeah, and?"

Elizabeth shakes her head in frustration. "No, I know, but, I think he is planning to use me as the leader of Atlantis. He said something about an informant and the informant being surprised I was alive, but he didn't seem to know that Atlantis was not in the Pegasus Galaxy any longer, so the informant's information is limited. I don't really know, but I have a feeling that I am going to play a part in whatever is going to occur."

John is frowning at her. "Not to sound like McKay or anything, but that was not very helpful."

"Yes, I realize that," she says, pausing her pacing to rub at the raw skin at her wrists. John catches sight of the red and his frown turns to something else, a something a lot more angry.

He walks over to Elizabeth and takes her arm in his hands, pushing back her jacket to reveal the chafed wrists. His touch his gentle but the energy coming off him in waves is harsh and Elizabeth feels it to her toes.

"They are just rope burns," Elizabeth replies quietly.

John turns her wrists first one way and then another, studying the red swollen flesh.

"They'll heal eventually," Elizabeth continues.

John looks up from her wrists, catching her eyes and holding them.

Elizabeth feels her stomach drop at the look there, though she cannot identify it.

"But they're not healing right away," John answers, quietly. Intense.

Instantly, she knows exactly what he is getting at, the implications of his words.

"Supposedly I am now just like any other human, having to heal at the same slow rate," Elizabeth replies, trying to interject lightness into her words but her throat is closing up. He is close, so close that she can smell the dirt on him, and underneath that, smell him. The scent is familiar, incredibly familiar, memories upon memories piling up, demanding notice.

She swallows.

John reaches up with his other hand as if to touch her face, as if to lay his palm against her cheek and she braces for it, for the feel of his skin against her skin. The familiarity in a gesture he has only done once before.

But he stops, pauses, doesn't, letting his hand drop, stepping away, his other hand holding her wrist for a moment longer before also dropping it.

Elizabeth exhales slowly, silently.

"So, we don't know," John says, starting the conversation once more as he walks back towards the window.

"We don't know," she replies. "Though we do know that he wants Atlantis and I don't think that he is one to take no for an answer."

John grimaces. "When do power-hungry maniacs ever take no for an answer?"

Elizabeth smiles slightly. "Well, yes, I suppose you have a point."

She turns back to her cot and sits down. Her legs fall underneath her and she hopes John does not notice. She feels weak, the dizziness not completely dissipating and wonders at it, even as her stomach suddenly growls in protest.

Hunger, she thinks, smiling inwardly. I am hungry and the fact she is, makes her feel giddy. Hunger.

As if on cue, there is a sound at the door as the key turns in the lock. Both of them look up expectantly, not at all surprised to see Malroy walk through the open door.

Elizabeth inwardly flinches as his gaze touches her face in a caressing manner before the gaze moves on to John.

"I hope the reunion was a good one," Malroy says, swaying slightly as he stands before them.

"It would be if we knew about the rest of our team," Elizabeth snaps.

Malroy gives her a look, as if he knew she was going to say as much.

"Your man has been released, to take the message back to Atlantis that we have their two leaders," Malroy replies. "The other two have been killed."

Elizabeth stands up at the news, feeling the blood rush to her head, feeling her sight narrow down to a pinprick, but knowing that it is essential for her to step between John and Malroy.

The effort pays off, John taking several powerful steps towards Malroy, murder in his eyes, but stopping when Elizabeth stands up, placing herself between them.

"You will die," John says, his voice like ice.

"No, in that you are incorrect," says Malroy.

John laughs, harsh and bitter. "I will make sure you die."

Malroy shakes his head. "So much passion, so much emotion, so much heat. I could immerse myself entirely in it and never tire of its warmth." Malroy smiles slightly and the smile is horrid. "Maybe I will have to, after I have accomplished my goals."

Elizabeth feels John behind her, feels it like a force field at her back. Anger. Hatred and underneath it, she knows, helplessness that makes it all the worse.

She blinks away at the dizziness and focuses on the man before her.

"Killing our friends has not helped you," she says.

Malroy laughs, a laugh of shards of glass. "And again, you are wrong. You will help me because with the two of you, I have a perfect balancing act. Neither will harm the other and neither will make a decision that will harm the other. I know what I have here, and I plan to play with it until I have what I want."

Malroy's face loses his smile. "But, in the mean time, you will eat, regain your strength, feel better. I will come back tomorrow and we will discuss our situation." Another smile. "Enjoy your night."

With those words Malroy turns on a heal and leaves the room, the door closing silently behind him, the key in the lock only slightly louder.


	9. Chapter 9

A movement behind her, a slight noise has her tensing muscles, flowing breath downwards and outwards. Her hand creeps to the gun at her side.

"It's me," a rough voice whispers next to her. Ronon.

A flow of air as his large body settles down next to her, the earth cool, the night cooler still.

"Anything?" She asks, not looking towards him but towards where they discovered the hatch several hours earlier. She resists the urge to shiver in the fog slowly gathering as morning approaches.

"No." A shuffle, as Ronon moves slightly, getting a better view of the hatch that neither of them can make out in the limited pre-dawn light. "They took the crystal."

"No way to dial back," Teyla says, more to herself than to the man at her side. "Then, we will have to find another alternative."

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Ronon jerk his head forward, towards the where the hatch is.

"Yes," she replies to his unstated question.

The hatch is sealed and though they searched for the control panel did not come across it. That was earlier in the night, after Ronon and Teyla woke as if they were knocked unconscious. Neither of them remember what happened to them, though they do remember Elizabeth, Rodney and then John being hit by darts.

"How?" He asks, indicating the hatch, the impossibility of getting inside.

"We'll find another way in," she replies.

They silently move from their position and off towards the rising morning.

*

Elizabeth must have fallen asleep but she doesn't know for how long. All she knows is that when she opens her eyes they feel gritty, as if she has spent the last several hours in a sandstorm on some distant planet.

Moving her body, her arms and legs, Elizabeth is slightly surprised at how sore she is, her muscles protesting against the movement. She turns her head, blinking several times against the limited light in the cell, to clear her eyes, to clear her head. She catches sight of John on the other cot, his chest moving slowly up and down, an arm thrown out towards the wall and the other towards the ground.

She takes the opportunity to study him, rolling over on her side and cradling her head against her arm. He looks older, she thinks, tracing the lines of his face, around his eyes, around his mouth. His chin and cheeks are all ready darkening with a shadow of facial hair.

She has missed him. She has missed their comradeship. Their trust. The ability to know him and know where she stands with him. Of course, there was always the tension, the little bit underneath their relationship, but even that was normal. She has had very few close friends in her life and knows, after spending countless hours in black space with only her mind and the freezing cold, that John was one of those friends.

Elizabeth doesn't know if that is the case now, but though she feels sadness at the thought, she understands it as well.

"Do you like what you see?" John asks into the silence, startling her.

He opens his eyes and turns his head to look over at Elizabeth.

She isn't embarrassed, smiling at his light tone.

He smiles back, slightly, a blur before it disappears.

He sits up, long legs thrown over the side of the cot, his arms stretching upwards towards the ceiling.

"So, where's breakfast in bed?" He asks, looking about the cell and then glancing at her.

Elizabeth sits up herself, ignoring the ache of her muscles. "You seem to be in a good mood."

John shrugs. "We'll get out of here. We always do."

She slowly nods. She is not as optimistic.

Both of them rise to their feet when the lock at the door clangs and the door opens, revealing a man in green, dark eyes glancing around the room before stilling on them. He holds an old looking rifle in his hands.

"Come with me," the man demands, his voice tense.

Elizabeth and John exchange looks. One man, Elizabeth thinks, they can take one man. She knows John is thinking the same thing.

They follow the man out the door, both pausing at the other four men out in the hallway, their green uniforms highlighted by the light bulb hanging from a single cord from the ceiling.

"Or not," Elizabeth mutters.

They are led through a maze of dank hallways, up stairs, through more hallways until taken to a doorway that leads out into a courtyard. Both blink in the sudden light, the sun hot on their heads.

"Wait here," one man says, and then they are left alone in the courtyard.

"This is different," John replies, scanning the high walls for any possible escape.

He isn't surprised when there is no way to escape the space.

Elizabeth nods somewhat absently, making her own survey of the area. The courtyard is not large, probably only ten yards by ten yards in total with tall concrete walls in all four directions. There is one door and the walls reach upwards at least thirty feet into the air, though she can't be completely sure about that.

They both turn when the door opens once more. Elizabeth expects the man, Malroy, but instead of the man is a woman. She is stunningly beautiful with black hair and white skin, clad in loose fitting black clothing that wraps around a curved form.

Elizabeth resists the urge to glance over at John.

"I hope you both have had a pleasant rest," the woman says, still walking towards them. Her voice is light but cold. Frigid.

Elizabeth unconsciously crosses her arms in front of her body before realizing what she has done and then uncrossing them, placing her hands on her hips.

"Answers would make the rest much more pleasant," Elizabeth replies. Her voice is also cold. Distant. She catches the flicker of a glance from John.

The woman studies Elizabeth for a moment, emotions not clear on her face, dark brown eyes catching and holding Elizabeth's own.

"Of course," the woman says, turning as she speaks. "Follow me."

Elizabeth and John share a glance.

Elizabeth shakes her head slightly. She has no ideas. The slight communication is enough for John and he nods, once, just enough to indicate he understands. He follows the woman and Elizabeth follows him.

More hallways and stairways lead upwards until they follow the woman into a room lit with morning sunshine let in by several large windows. A table is set with food, the smell making Elizabeth's stomach growl in reaction. The growl is loud and Elizabeth is surprised by it, not only out of embarrassment but because her stomach now growls.

"Please, sit," the woman says, going to the end of the table and indicating with one hand the chairs that John and Elizabeth should take.

They do, albeit hesitantly and neither of them touch the food that is set out on the table.

The woman smiles. "You are wary of threat, I understand, but the only threat here is if you try to leave or harm me in anyway."

They still do not go for the food and Elizabeth has a sudden flash of Rodney. If he were there with them, he would be reaching for the food in no time. For some reason the thought is comforting.

"How 'bout you let us know why we're here and why the village is not here," John replies.

The woman sits down. "Of course. The answer is very simple. The people of the town are safe, they have just been relocated. As for your presence, I would think Malroy would have provided that information."

"You want Atlantis," Elizabeth replies.

The woman looks away from John and towards the other woman.

"Simply put, yes," she says.

"And why?"

"For our survival." The woman leans forward slightly. Dark hair frames her face. "You see, we are not much different then you. We are just looking for a way to keep ourselves safe against the threats that exist in this galaxy."

"The wraith?" John asks.

"That is one threat," she replies.

"There is another?" Elizabeth asks, quickly, immediately. She cannot hide the concern in her voice.

She feels John's glance though she does not acknowledge it.

"There are, but they should not become a concern for anyone if you allow us access to your facility," the woman replies.

"Before we decide if we can or can't help you, why don't you tell us about this threat?" John asks and in his voice is the control Elizabeth knows well.

The woman pauses looking first at John and then at Elizabeth. She spreads her hands outwards. "That is information Malroy can impart on you, but I cannot. All I can tell you is that your help is needed. If you help us, Malroy will be able to supply you with the information that you need. All we need is access to Atlantis and you will help us."

"We can't," John says.

The woman's eyes grow colder, though Elizabeth wonders if it is just an illusion.

"Not that we won't," Elizabeth continues. "But we can't."

The woman tilts her head. "You are the leader of that place, is that not correct?"

Elizabeth wonders if admitting as much will make her expendable but decides to admit it anyway.

"I am not the leader anymore. Command has been under another jurisdiction for some time."

The woman turns to John. "Yours?"

John shakes his head. "I'm the military man. But just because we can't access Atlantis for you, doesn't mean that we can't help you. We have friends, powerful friends, that are working to eliminate the wraith threat."

The woman sits back. "Yes, I am aware of your relationship with the Travelers, if that is who you speak of, but they are no good to me. There is technology that is required that can only be accessed through knowledge contained in Atlantis' database."

A pause as Elizabeth frowns, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap.

"You only need information, knowledge?" She asks the woman.

"Yes."

Another pause. "Then we might be able to help you," John says slowly. Elizabeth has a flash of panic at his words before it calms down. Though in control, there is something in his face that reassures her.

He continues. "But first we must speak to Malroy."

"That can be arranged," the woman says.

"Now." John replies.

Another smile on the perfectly white skin. Calculated, Elizabeth thinks. The smile is calculated.

"In due time," the woman replies.

She stands up, placing her hands on the table. "Please. I entreat you. Eat. Today is your day. You may go anywhere on this floor. I will come for you tonight, when Malroy is ready to meet with you."

Elizabeth watches the woman walk away, moving with a stillness Elizabeth finds uncanny. Unnatural.

The door shuts behind the woman with a throb that echoes through the room.

She looks back over to the man sitting across from her. He gives her a sideways smile, a twinge along his lips and Elizabeth cannot help but smile back at him, though her smile is small and concern edges the lines of it.

"So what kind of information did you get from that interaction?" He asks, reaching now for a loaf of bread and tearing a piece from it.

"That she is lying."

"Which part?"

"All of it. Well, except for the food is safe part. But everything is a lie. I don't doubt that there is information she, or Malroy wants, but to what end. No. There is something else there and as we have no ability to give them what they want, we might not ever know."

"Never say never," John replies.

"What do you mean? They want Atlantis. That is largely an impossibility. You know as well as I do that it was a stroke of pure luck that we were able to even come back to the Pegasus Galaxy."

John shrugs. "So we lie. They lie. We lie."

"And pretend that we are going to bring them to a non-existent Atlantis?" Elizabeth asks, tilting her head to look at him. "I don't know if that will actually work."

"Buy us time."

"For Ronon and Teyla to find us?"

"If they are still alive. But no. More so I can figure out how to get us out of here."

Elizabeth feels restless. She reaches for a piece of her own bread and then stands up, stretching. She walks over to one of the large windows. They are several stories up and the woods lay outwards in a blanket of green. In the distance, water glints in the sunshine.

The warmth from the sun absorbs in her skin and she closes her eyes for a moment to gather the sensation. Warmth is new to her. Hunger is new to her. Things she remembers, sensations she remembers, but they seem new. Clearer. Brighter.

She opens her eyes when she hears John's chair scrape back, feeling his approach. He stops to stand next to her, looking out the same window.

"No way out this way, huh?" He asks, his eyes scanning outside the window.

Elizabeth leans towards the window, trying to glance upwards, glance down. Looking for a ledge. For something.

Luck, she thinks. Right above them is the ledge of the roof. She indicates it with a nod of her head.

John leans forward, knocking his fist against the glass. The sound is solid. He peers upwards himself. A look crosses his face and Elizabeth steps back a step.

John looks away from the window, around the room. Glancing left, right, leveling on a chair at the table. He crosses towards it quickly, picking it up in one smooth movement and then running at the window, he throws the chair at the glass.

She doesn't expect it to work. To be that easy.

Elizabeth grimaces as the window shatters, scattering glass everywhere. The wind is piercing, freezing cold and she wraps her arms around her, watching John sticks his head out of the jagged opening. The wind is strong, almost pushing him backwards.

Elizabeth takes a step towards him. "Is it possible?"

John looks over his shoulder. He quirks a smile at her. "We'll see," he says.

Before Elizabeth can reply, he is out the window, pulling himself through and up. She runs to the window. The wind batters against her but she forces her head out of the opening and looks upwards. John is barely visible over the edge.

"John?" She calls upwards and then regrets it when he leans slightly forward, the wind pushing him towards imbalance. His balance proves to be adequate though and he kneels downwards, reaching with a hand.

"Come on," he says.

Elizabeth does not look down but feels the clutch of her belly. Something about the situation, about the jagged glass, reminds her of a dream she once had, a dream a long time ago. She had fallen in the dream. Downwards.

She swallows and then propels her body forward, outwards. She reaches for the ledge. It is about three hand spaces above her head and she can angle her body just so that she can grasp at the ledge. Ignoring John's hand, she pulls herself over the glass and outwards. As a replicator she was strong, able to do anything with her replicator body. This body is human and she forgets it at times, as in right then, when she tries to pull herself up onto the ledge and finds the wind too strong.

The ledge is cold, frigid and her fingers feel numb.

It is only a matter of time. Her arms feel it first, a shaking and her leg slips against the glass, cutting it. The wind whips her hair, too long she thinks, across her face, blinding her and she feels a moment of panic and then hilarity. To die, she thinks.

John's hand along her arm is warm and strong and he pulls her upwards, almost easily, pulling her up on the ledge that is about two-feet in width, pulling her against him and pausing to allow her to gain her balance.

The wind whips around them and Elizabeth calms herself as quickly as she can, moving away from John's solid form and onto the ledge, standing by herself, with her own support.

She does not look at his face. She isn't sure she wants to see his reaction to her near fall. Or lack there of.

"This way," he replies, turning and making his way along the edge, a hand against the wall, the sheer abyss on the other side of him. Elizabeth follows, keeping her eyes on his back, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her gut, the fall that is most certainly imminent.

She knows it is only a matter of time; that someone will enter the room and not find them there, but she hopes it will be long enough for them to get off the ledge.

They are not that lucky.

The shouts come first and then gunfire, not from behind them, but from above them.

Elizabeth glances up. The sheer slate roof, tilted at almost an 80-degree angle parts to reveal the end of weapons.

The first shots miss, fire colored in blue heating her face as it passes in front of her. She shuffles faster, trying to follow John who has also picked up the pace, stopping suddenly when he stops suddenly.

Elizabeth watches in horror as he turns and seems to fall from the edge.

"John," she cries, instinctively ducking from fire, sickness clutching her throat.

She looks over the ledge, expecting to see air but seeing a balcony. The relief is instant, her knees feeling it. John's face pops in front of her, startling her. He grabs at her, taking her hand and pulling her downwards in a swift movement she is not sure how he manages.

Once on the balcony he does not let go of her hand, pulling her sideways as anther flash of blue passes over their head.

The balcony leads to a room, abstract with nothing in it, the room leading to a hallway that looks like all the other hallways they'd gone through before.

They run. Voices follow but not immediately.

"Where are we going?" Elizabeth manages as they run, the thud of their military boots echoing in the hallway. On some level, Elizabeth wonders how long she will be able to keep the pace, her heart racing in her chest.

"I don't know," John replies.

Something like amusement flickers across her emotions at the seemingly normality of the situation.

They turn a corner, faced with blue gunfire, and turn around, down another hallway.

Now there are voices and there is blue fire. Lots of it. The fire is like nothing she has ever witnessed. Not a weapon she is familiar with, though she has not doubt it will do damage.

It scorches the wall right above her head.

"This way," John calls, running down a stairwell, and then another stairwell. Elizabeth's chest feels tight and the cut on her thigh from the glass is burning. She wonders how much blood she is losing.

Another hallway leads to a door. The door leads outwards and Elizabeth almost laughs at their good fortune, running across the grass and towards a line of trees. Good luck and she can't believe it is that easy. The trees snag at her, the brush slapping against her bloody thigh causing pain to explode. But it doesn't matter. They are going to get out of the situation with relative ease.

The feeling of euphoria lasts until the line of trees makes way for the cliff. A very large cliff, white water rushing underneath.

"Shit," John swears, looking backwards at the commotion through the woods.

Elizabeth looks down at the water. Icy. Cold. The spray that hits her face is almost numbing.

A voice causes her to look backwards, towards the way they came.

"This is unfortunate," the woman says as she emerges from the line of trees towards them. There is deadness in her voice. Lack of emotion. Anything. Her eyes lack any sort of acknowledgment of them or the situation. Like a robot, Elizabeth thinks.

The woman is still graceful though, moving towards them through the trees, guards on either side of her with their weapons trained on John and Elizabeth. The guards in their green fan out, surrounding them.

The woman's head tilts as she catches Elizabeth's eye for a moment and then looks on to John.

"Very unfortunate," she continues, stopping still only ten feet away from them.

Elizabeth feels John's hand tighten around her hand and she is surprised to find they are still holding hands, wondering if she ever let go. If he ever let go. But the thought is broken, caught by a tug, slight, ever so slight on her arm.

Backwards.

Towards the water.

"Unfortunate," John repeats and then he steps backwards.

Off the cliff.

Into the air, pulling Elizabeth with him.


	10. Chapter 10

The water takes her breath.

The rock against her temple causes searing pain through her head, but instinct, something deep in her cells–recreated cells or not–has her struggling to swim with the white water, has her struggling to keep her head above the surface.

After what seems like years later but is only moments, the water calms down to a slight roll of wave and Elizabeth feels sand under her hands.

Grasping at it she pulls herself up out of the water, blackness swirling about the back of her head.

She is cold. Beyond cold. Freezing, and she shivers against the sand but she cannot move. Not right then, not at that moment, but she has to catch her breath. Has to make the blackness go away.

Right then, struggling to breathe, struggling to move, she wishes she was still immersed in replicator technology. She wishes that she still had those nannites in her cells, fixing. Making this human weaknesses go away. Those nannites would be taking care of everything. Taking away the cold. Taking away the shivering. Allowing her heart to slow down. Pulling her more fully into consciousness and allowing her to get up. Move. Find shelter.

To be a replicator. The irony.

That thought makes her think of John, which causes panic. Panic enough to open her eyes and look around her. To see where she is.

Where he is.

The rocks hide much of her view and she struggles upwards. Scanning.

Nothing.

But she is in the open and that same instinct that had her swimming earlier has her dragging herself into the trees. Into the brush. Out of the open.

Once among the brambles, she settles there. Closes her eyes. Lets the shivering take over. She could die. She is dying, she thinks, knows. Remembers when her friend fell into a lake partially covered by ice. The friend, who turned white with the cold. Whose muscles went frigid with the cold.

Elizabeth doesn't know if it is the same in this situation, but knows the shivering is a sign of her body trying to warm itself.

The shivering is not working.

The coldness is deep in her bones. Deeper even then the coldness of space. Then, there, when floating about in blackness, there was no pain, just cold. Now. The pain is jarring.

She forces her eyes open again. Blinking away the water gathered there, pushing herself up onto all fours. The effort causes her muscles to shriek out. To protest. She ignores them.

"All right, Elizabeth, you have to go," she mutters, forcing herself from all fours to both feet. The world spins but she blinks several times. It stops. Mostly.

She continues through the woods. Trying to be quiet. Not sure if she is being quiet. Not sure of anything but knowing that she needs to find John. Her body responds, her new body, moving forward, and the shivering has caused some kind of heat. She feels the heat in her cheeks, along her forehead.

The sun is bright through the trees. There is a slight breeze and the end of autumn leaves fall downwards. The dead leaves crackle under her feet. The crackling seems very loud. A brush snags at the sleeve of her wet shirt. The branch scratches, reaches, holds the shirt.

She tears from it. The shirt tears with it. A long tear along the sleeve, up the shoulder.

She stumbles on a stone. Down to her knees. The pain in her thigh is jarring. Looking down. There is blood. Along her thigh. Pooling. Staining the already wet stain.

Blood.

She gets to her feet and starts forward again, pulling her arms around her. Cradling herself.

She thinks about the desert. She counts her steps. She continues on.

At some point the warmth along her face is more like fire. Her thigh is burning but has subsided some. Her shivering is largely gone. Now she is hot. Burning hot.

The sun glares. Hurts her eyes.

She turns her eyes downwards. Closes them. Falls. Falls hard.

*

John hits the water with force, falling down towards the bottom. The cold causes his body to seize, muscles going rigid. But he controls it. There was a training exercise very similar in nature during his combat days and the instinct developed from that helps, carries him to the bottom of the river, feet secure on the rocks, then propelling upward in a shot of power.

His head clear the surface, the water throws him; this way, that way, hits a rock, another rock.

He lets the water take him. Waiting. Moving with the water. Keeping focused.

Another rock. This time against his side. He loses his breath and the water pushes him under.

He comes up sputtering, but the water eases some as he does so, just a bit, enough so that he can move through it with a steady force. Towards the shore. The rocks. He grabs hold of one. Almost slips. Doesn't matter. Throws his other arm across the top of the rock. Pulls himself upwards. Upwards and out of the water.

He shivers, the water freezing on his skin, numbing, but his mind sheds the discomfort, ignoring the cold and scanning the area for Elizabeth. Perhaps he shouldn't have jumped.

Something tightens in his gut.

He curses. Because of the feeling in his gut. Because he can't help but feel it. The days together have required him to rethink, to re-evaluate, but he has tried to avoid just those things.

It doesn't change anything. He refuses to examine what it is he is feeling, what it is that has him feeing sick to his stomach; rather he focuses on the task of staying away from those who are surely searching for him.

And looking for Elizabeth.

Wherever she may be.

He finds her jacket first, along side the river, the rapids white and fearsome. He wonders how she got this far down river, almost a mile down from where they jumped.

He continues, wandering over the rocks, scanning the tree lines, keeping his mind focused on the task at hand and not on the dread creeping up his neck to wrap around his brain.

What if he killed her?

What if his actions, his jumping, his escaping, what if they killed her?

Just after finding her alive.

Just after...

He kicks a rock. Sudden. The ricochet of it passes backwards, causes a loud noise even with the sound of the river in his ears. His eyes trace the path of the rock, wincing at the sound.

It lands near blood. He can see the red stain even from twenty-feet away.

"Shit."

He follows the trail. He comes across a piece of her shirt caught on bramble.

For some reason this amuses him. Something smirks deep inside at the trail Elizabeth is so obviously leaving. The old Elizabeth was never very good at away missions, at least the physical, in-the-woods surviving type missions, and it appears as if this new Elizabeth is much the same.

John wonders how that works. He wonders if everything that was her before is her now. Wonders if she laughs the same, or smiles the same. Wonders if her eyes turn with her emotions even though her face stays perfectly masked and composed.

Wonders about all the little clues that he learned, memorized, to survive as her first in command, but also because he found himself wanting to know those little things. He had wanted to know what color her eyes were when lighting up in pleasure, or in anger. He'd wanted to know what color her eyes were on every occasion. He had learned to recognize the colors, the emotions. Looking for them. Or the small smile along her lips when she was amused at something. Or the slight turning of the left side of her lips when she was annoyed.

And the anger. The precise nature of her voice when commanding something or the barely-there exasperated sound when talking with Rodney.

All those things. Are they the same?

And then finds himself wondering if it should matter in the first place. Technically, or at least as technically as he can understand, the Elizabeth now is not the Elizabeth then. That is impossible on every physical level. But does it change things? Because what about her consciousness? Had that changed through all over everything? Was she, is she, the same. Where was it? The line?

John's hand tightens into a first, in annoyance at his own thoughts even as he moves quickly and quietly through the wooded area. He is cold, shivering, his wet clothes sticky along his skin. But the sun is warm and there is very little breeze amongst the trees.

His tracking skills are not very good, not nearly as good as Ronon, but thankfully Elizabeth does not hide her tracks. The blood worries him. More than he would like to admit, the red stark against the dead leaves.

He continues to keep one part of his mind on the task of evaluating if he is being followed, but so far the sound of an approaching enemy has escaped him.

John wishes Teyla and Ronon were around.

But then he stumbles on Elizabeth and his wish changes.

To hell with them, he thinks, as he would give anything for a doctor. Anything at all.

Elizabeth is curled up, her body shivering and John has a flash of something, of worry, of dread, of anger and something else. Something that rips at the base of his spine.

He kneels next to her, scanning her body, looking for the source of blood–her thigh–and analyzing the situation.

John puts a hand on her forehead. It is burning.

She mumbles. Turning her head, dark eyelashes stark against white cheeks. The small number of freckles across the bridge of her nose are stark in contrast to the color of her skin.

John ignores the mumble, looking around, mind going through the different scenarios, the different possibilities. He needs to get back to the gate, to try to gate off this hell of a planet, but knows Elizabeth is not going to be able to carry herself and he doesn't think that he can carry her all the way to the gate.

And there is survival 101. She is burning up. She is still in wet clothes and it seems to John imperative that she get out of the clothes and get warm.

So, a safe place first. Fire second.

John ignores his aching muscles, aching from the cold and aching from the last two days, and pulls Elizabeth towards him.

"You are going to have to help a little bit Elizabeth," John mutters, her body flopping against him. Her freezing hair, longer than he has ever known it to be, causes water to drip down his back. It's cold, and he yelps.

Elizabeth's eyes open.

"John?"

John glances downwards, his arms around her torso, cradling her against his chest.

"We need to get you somewhere safe, and warm, but I need your help, I cant support your dead weight," John replies to the confusion in her eyes.

Elizabeth blinks. Several times and then as if gathering herself pulls back slightly from John's body.

"I can walk," she says, pulling against his arms.

John feels a moment of certainty, that he most definitely should not let go of her body, but that is quickly overridden and he lets his arms falls.

Elizabeth turns away and John gets to his feet. He watches her get, very unsteadily, to her knees and then from there stand up.

He resists the urge to go to her, to wrap his arms around her again, to feel her body weight against his, to share warmth. But then she stumbles. The first step, her foot comes down and her body doesn't respond, going downward.

John catches her under the arms.

"Hell," Elizabeth mutters. Her voice is thick.

John agrees silently. He pulls her close, keeping his arm around her and then together they straighten and move forward.

"You know this is a role reversal," John says.

Elizabeth doesn't answer but John continues.

"Usually I'm the one having to be dragged out of a situation, almost dead, barely able to make it."

Elizabeth mutters something and John glances over at her. She is looking down, watching her feet, the look of concentration etched on her face.

Elizabeth feels his eyes and glances up.

"What?" John asks.

"I said this isn't much fun," Elizabeth replies. Louder this time.

John nods. "Nope, not usually."

They walk in silence for a moment, John's arm around Elizabeth, supporting her, stumbling with her when she stumbles. She stumbles frequently, and her increasing inability to support herself is apparent with the increasing amount of body weight leaning up against John.

He scans the area. Somewhat desperately. His own body temperature is low, too low and the shivering is becoming more pronounced. The both of them need heat, especially before Elizabeth loses consciousness again.

John is lucky. He knows it, has realized it through the years. Always at the time that he most needs something, something provides itself.

This time is no different. As they emerge from a line of trees, Elizabeth stumbles again, going down, bringing both of them to their knees. John swears, swearing more when Elizabeth tries to apologize, or at least he thinks she is trying to apologize. Her words are incoherent.

He looks upwards and sees the cave.

The eye level is just right, their height just right. If they were still walking they would miss it but as they are near the ground, the entrance to the cave is apparent though largely hidden.

He struggles to his feet, pulling Elizabeth along with him. She tries to help, stumbles, and John catches panic in her face as he helps her stay on her feet.

He feels her panic, the quickness of breath.

John catches her face between his hands, turning her head so he can look at her, catching her eyes with his own.

"Almost there. Just a little bit longer. You can do this," he tells her.

Elizabeth blinks. Tries to blink away the darkness threatening. The feeling of panic rising up in her throat. Sometime later she will look back at the situation and be disgusted with her weaknesses, with her inability to take care of herself, but at that moment, she hangs on to John, hangs on to the determination in his eyes and the feel of his hands along her cheeks.

She nods.

John drops his hands and wraps his arms around her once more.

They make it to the cave. John wonders for a second if it is occupied but his luck, as always, holds and it is just dry and empty. Quiet.

John gently sits Elizabeth down along one wall and then stands back up. She grabs his hand, her fingers freezing against his palm.

"Just going to get wood," he replies to her look.

Elizabeth nods. Lets go of his hand.

John turns and leaves, speed now essential.

He returns only a few moments later. Glancing over at Elizabeth he halfway expects to see her unconscious or dead, but her eyes are open and she watches him arrange a small pile of twigs.

He pulls from inside his jacket a kit, tightly sealed, waterproof. He breaks the seal and pulls out matches.

"Boyscout," Elizabeth tries from where she sits. Her voice comes out low, scratchy, but there is humor, somewhere, in its tones.

"Military," John replies, ignoring the relief he feels at her coherent words. That she is speaking.

"Same thing," Elizabeth mutters.

The twigs catch and a small amount of smoke swirls above their head and then upwards, into the rocks. He vaguely wonders how long it will be before someone sees the smoke but it is better than the alternative. John had almost expected the cave to hold the smoke, forcing them out.

John looks over towards Elizabeth, taking off his jacket even as he gets up to go to her. She watches him, her eyes dull, the sparkle entirely gone. Dead, he thinks, and then shoves the thought away.

He takes off his shirt, shivering severely, but kneels in front of her, ignoring the shivering of his body or the clumsiness of his hands as he tries to unbutton her shirt. He expects her to resist, to protest, but she just watches him, her arms hanging limply at her side as his numb fingers fumble at the buttons.

John avoids looking into her eyes. Avoids the alarm bells in his head or the sudden awareness of her skin as it is exposed to his eyes.

"Out of the clothes and next to the fire," John says, as way of an explanation, though he knows that she knows what he is doing.

He finishes the shirt buttons and she leans forward to help him with the shirt, to help him expose her completely to the cold air, her bra coming off in the process. Her skin is creamy white, her nipples dark, breasts tight and high against the cold air.

John curses mentally. Curses fate, the gods, the universe.

Outwardly, he pulls her towards him. Her skin is cold. Frigid cold and it shocks his shivering into a steadiness for a moment. He takes advantage of the moment, pulling them towards the fire and sitting themselves down in front of it. He hesitates, just for a second, her skin next to his, and then pushes her slightly away, reaching for the button of her pants.

She stops him with a hand.

He looks up. Catches her eyes and then blushes. Like a schoolboy. Like a young schoolboy with a crush. He blushes.

Her green eyes darken.

He looks away from them.

Elizabeth gets out of her pants. Leaving her panties on. John hisses at the gash along her thigh. Dark red and angry.

Taking from the same packet antibiotics he grits his teeth. Thank God they did not take his jacket or empty its many pockets, he thinks even as he dreads what comes next.

"This is going to hurt," he says, looking at her thigh and not at her face.

"Okay," Elizabeth says, barely uttering the word.

He expects her to make a noise when he dresses the wound on her thigh but she doesn't make a sound. Sitting there, mostly naked. He is quick, swift, shivering.

Once finished he peals his own pants off, throwing them to the side and then sits just to the side of Elizabeth, both of them almost entirely naked. Elizabeth leans into him immediately, turning towards him. John folds his arms around her resolutely, ignoring the feeling of her breasts on his chest. Ignoring the press of her thigh against his thigh.

Thank God for the cold, he thinks, grabbing at his jacket with one hand though the other remains along Elizabeth's back. He pulls out another packet. Small, compact. He opens it with his teeth, tearing it along the seam and then pulling from it a thin blanket-type material. The survival blanket is small, made for one person, but it is dry.

He pulls Elizabeth tight against him, intertwining his legs with her, and then pulls the blanket tight around their upper bodies, securing it with one hand.

His shivering has started again, and Elizabeth, who was not shivering, now starts to shiver. The chatter of her teeth is loud in the room.

John's arms tighten around her body. He tries to ignore the feel of her. Of her skin against his own. Of her scent, there even in the middle of the woods; while trying to survive, after what they have been through, still there. The smell in her hair as her head lays against his chest, right under his chin.

He closes his eyes.

"John," Elizabeth murmurs, against his skin, the breath along his chest.

"Yes," he replies, relieved that his voice comes out with any kind of normalcy.

"Thank you," she replies, quietly, barely there, voice sluggish.

John doesn't reply. He holds her instead. Holds her and stares at the leap of orange flame. At some point he will need to add wood. But right then the fire is perfect, warming the air around them and warming them.

His shivers stop first and for several minutes he worries about Elizabeth, shaking in his arms, her body still cold against his own.

But then she starts to warm, her shivering dissipating, her breath evening out.

He feels the change when she falls asleep, the heaviness of her body suddenly and completely against his own, the steadiness of her breath.

John closes his eyes. Closes them and tries to focus on the situation. Tries to think about what comes next. Tries to ignore the body sleeping against him. Tries to ignore his physical response to Elizabeth's naked body held firm up against his own.

Tries to think about how to keep them alive and not about the weird ache low in his chest and how that ache is much more familiar than it ought to be.


	11. Chapter 11

The sound of voices is far away, as if she is underwater and all she can hear is garbled sound fighting against the waves. Sound waves against water waves. Distorting. Messing. Unable to comprehend anything.

The sounds start to clarify as she works her way up to consciousness. Voices. Distinct but unrecognizable.

She opens her eyes and immediately shuts them, shielding against the light that stabbed into her brain.

Focuses on breathing, trying to ignore the pain throbbing and throbbing at the base of her skull.

She tries again. Blinking furiously until the light dims down from brilliant brightness to dullness.

"She's coming to, doc," a female voice says next to her head.

Elizabeth turns her eyes in that direction. The woman looking down is unfamiliar, a young face with curly brown hair and a pert and upturned nose.

A male's face, a face she knows, joins the woman's.

Mathis smiles. "Good to see you back, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth blinks and tries to swallow but her throat is beyond dry and she can barely gather enough saliva to make the physical action of swallowing happen.

The woman's face disappears and then reappears. Elizabeth catches sight of a glass of water in her hand.

Mathis leans towards Elizabeth, pulling an arm underneath her neck, to tilt her head.

The woman places the straw between Elizabeth's lips and Elizabeth drinks the water.

It is sparkling cold and sweet.

She drinks several sips before the woman takes it away and Mathis lays her head back on the pillow.

"How?" Elizabeth manages, her head foggy but her memory serving to remind her that she was on a planet, running away from imprisonment.

"A combination of efforts," Mathis replies. "But you are not quite up to that yet, sleep and then I will have them debrief you."

Elizabeth barely smiles at the formal nature of the word "debrief," but the smile falls, quickly and suddenly.

"John," she says, struggling to move then, sit up, look around the room.

Mathis places a hand on her chest, holding her down on the bed. She cannot resist the weight of his hand though it is minimal. She feels weak. Irritatingly weak.

"He's fine," Mathis replies. Elizabeth misses the ever-so-slight edge to his voice.

Elizabeth allows herself to lie back down. She is very tired, unconsciousness tugging and tugging at her eyes.

She closes them. The voices swirling about her as she falls into sleep.

*

Mathis emerges from the makeshift medical room. His strides are long, firm, the slight limp not immediately noticeable. In his face is a carefully controlled blankness but along his shoulders is a stiffness that is unknown to the man. In his stomach a rolling and in his chest a heat he does not recognize but knows must be suppressed anger.

No. Fury. Fury at witnessing her arrival through the Stargate, nearly dead in that man's arms, her breathing barely registering and her heart rate too low. Too low. And too cold. And too much of what had happened could have killed her and it makes him furious.

Cool and collected and logical Mathis. Furious.

He finds them in the East briefing room. They are sitting around a large oval table and look up when he enters into the room.

"How is she?"

Larrin is the one who talks first but Mathis does not miss Colonel Sheppard rising up slightly from his seat at his arrival.

'Bastard' is the arrow thought piercing Mathis' mind and it surprises him. The feeling behind a word he doesn't know if he's ever used in his life.

He directs his attention to Larrin.

"Dr. Weir has woken and she will survive. It was touch and go for quite some time but she is out of danger and will recover. She suffered from acute hypothermia and abrasions, but I was able to stabilize her body temperature and take care of the other medical emergencies."

Mathis feels the collective sigh in the room though not a sound is made. He glances about; at Dr. McKay and the woman and large man—Ronon and Teyla—and at the other man, the leader of the expedition, Mr. Woolsey. And then John Sheppard.

John Sheppard's face is blank. No emotion, not a single sign of relief, unlike his companions whose relief is apparent on their faces. Even the big man, though largely silent and more brute then anything shows signs of real relief at the news.

But not Sheppard. Not the Colonel.

Mathis wonders at it. If the lack of emotion is real or if it is a controlled reaction.

Because he'd seen an emotional man.

He'd witnessed the man at Elizabeth's bed.

Sheppard had slipped into the room, when no one was supposed to be in the medical wing and Mathis had witnessed it from his office. Seen it and had left. Backing out of the room as the man's head bowed over the woman's body, his hand covering hers.

He wondered at them then and wonders at them now.

Anger. Fury. Something else along his rib cage.

"Other medical emergencies?" McKay picks up on, sitting slightly forward in his seat. Several computer pads are laid out before him on the table.

Mathis is pulled away from his quick pattern of thoughts.

"She had a near lethal dose of poison in her blood stream," Mathis replied.

"From the cut on her leg?" Mr. Woolsey asks.

Mathis looks at the man, the leader of the expedition. He shakes his head. "I really couldn't tell you, though I would think that unlikely. It was either administered intravenously or maybe through food."

"But Colonel Sheppard does not have the same poison in his system?" Teyla asks.

Mathis shakes head. "No. He suffered from slight hypothermia but that was all."

"Could you determine anything from blood samples? Anything about those who administered them?" Larrin asks.

Mathis looks at Larrin, sitting back in her chair. Her face is also composed but he knows her well and sees the lines of stress along her eyes and chin. She has not slept and is tense. Though others cannot tell, Mathis has known the woman for many years and notices the signs. Notices and realizes guilt at not having checked in on her.

"They are advanced, medically speaking and I dare say technologically speaking, though I am not for certain," Mathis replies.

"They are," Rodney answers for Mathis. All eyes turn towards him.

Rodney points to one of the tablets in front of him. "Obviously they have a power source that far surpasses what most in this galaxy even know exists, beside the Ancients and the Wraith that is, and they know how to manipulate the gate, though not as well as they would have liked because I was able to create a work around, and that, I might add, was a stroke of genius…"

"But they are advanced," John cuts Rodney off. "Their weapons are unlike anything I have ever seen."

"Yes, yes, you said. Blue fire," Rodney cuts John off this time.

"Like lightning," John replies. "Nothing that we have ever come across before."

"Neither have we," Larrin interjects. She leans forward in her seat. "Malroy, that is the name that he gave Dr. Weir and as Sheppard said, something that is human but not human."

"Like a vampire," John replies.

Larrin shakes her head. "I'm not familiar with that term."

"Kind of like Wraith but instead of sucking life, sucks blood. Cold. Creepy. Cannot come out during the day to play," John lists off.

"But not Wraith?" Larrin asks.

John shrugs, looks over to Teyla.

Teyla shakes her head. "No, I don't believe so."

Mathis wonders how Teyla would know if the creature was Wraith or not but is not entirely surprised when Larrin does not press the other woman.

"So, we have no idea who these, or this thing is, just that they need Atlantis," Larrin's voice is grim. "Seems like everyone needs Atlantis."'

Rodney frowns as he plays with his tablets. Mathis watches the other scientist, knowing that Rodney has made some kind of connection.

"But you said that they don't want Atlantis, not for the Ancients weapons or protection, but because of some kind of information in the Ancient's database?" Rodney asks.

John nods. "That's what the lady said. She was creepy too."

"What, couldn't charm her?" Rodney piques but only in a halfway manner, his fingers flying across his tablet.

"What are you thinking?" Mr. Woolsey asks, watching the scientist as everyone else in the room does.

Rodney looks up, a frown between his eyes. "I don't know, but I need to access Earth."

Mr. Woolsey nods then looks to Larrin at the head of the table.

"Of course," Larrin says, standing up. "I will make a heading back to the planet."

The rest of the room stands up as Larrin heads to the door. Mathis watches as John jogs after her, the others dispersing behind them.

Mathis turns when he feels a presence at his elbow, looking down at Teyla. Her brown eyes are concerned.

"Dr. Weir will be all right?" Teyla asks.

Mathis nods, feeling wariness along his bones. It has been a long couple of days. "Yes, now, though it is a near a miracle that she survived."

"Of course. She was in very bad shape when we found them."

Mathis feels a warming towards the woman. That this woman cares for Elizabeth is apparent in her features, in the worry in her eyes.

"You did well, administering the leaflet like you did. It kept her heart going," Mathis says.

Teyla smiles slightly. "It was mostly John. I think that if he had not done what he did she would have died long before I got there."

Mathis feels the anger then, strong and precise at the center of his chest but does not express it, does not tell this woman that he blames the Colonel for putting Elizabeth in a situation where she was so close to dying. Instead he excuses himself from Teyla, citing his need to check on Elizabeth.

Teyla inclines her head. "Of course. Let me know if there is anything at all I can do."

Mathis puts a hand on the woman's shoulder and squeezes. "Thank you."

Teyla watches the tall man walk down the hallway, away from her, the limp slight in his gate. She wonders at him. And wonders at the hatred she saw in his eyes when she mentioned John.

Teyla turns to head to the bridge. To talk to John on what she witnessed. To ask him if he understands Mathis' dislike.

Or not. Because what would it accomplish.

Teyla shakes her head, filing the information away for another time.

Walking away, Mathis does not realize Teyla saw what she saw and so it does not bother him, focusing instead on the need to control the anger. The tightness in his gut. Flowing in and out of breath and flowing with his step. Finding the center of power at the place in his chest and moving outwards and through.

Breathing.

The anger is controlled by the time he makes his way back to the medical area. He walks over to where Elizabeth lays in a too big makeshift hospital bed.

He stands there for a moment, looking down at the woman lying there. She seems fragile underneath the white sheet, her dark hair dark against the white of the fabric but also against the white of her skin. She was so cold when they had first walked through the gate. Cold and near death. In fact, he thought she was dead, lying limp in John's arms when he first approached them, medical bag in hand.

The feeling at the thought had nearly knocked him over.

He wonders at the feeling now, looking down at the woman. Yes, there is a feeling of responsibility towards Elizabeth. He did bring her back. Bring her body and her person back together, into one unit. And that required a lot of time, a lot of understanding and a true realization of who Dr. Elizabeth Weir really is. What makes her exist in the way that she exists.

But there is more than just a feeling of responsibility. He recognizes her. He admires her strength, a strength of will that he recognizes in himself. A need to exist in order to help, if for no other reason but to help. To exist in order to make the universe a better place.

And she was so very fragile, a delicate web of reality that he had methodically placed piece by piece back into existence.

And that reality had almost been shattered. Destroyed.

Mathis moves a piece of hair from Elizabeth's forehead, staring for a moment.

He turns and goes back to his office.

*

"Bullets and then blue fire, that just doesn't make sense," Rodney is saying to John as they eat several hours later.

John shakes his head. "I don't know. I'm telling you that it was blue fire and it was unlike anything I've ever seen. Maybe the original attack was by the locals."

"And vampires?" Rodney continues before stuffing his mouth with a huge bite of some kind of fruit pie.

John raises an eyebrow at the man sitting across from him. "I'm just saying. This Malroy character couldn't see us when we requested it during the day but had no problems at night and he was all cold and weird."

"Doesn't mean he's a vampire," Rodney said with his mouth full.

"No. But it might."

Rodney finishes chewing and then takes a sip of his coffee. "Well, whatever, I want to know what they want from the Atlantis database."

"Were you able to get a hold of Radek?"

Rodney nods. "Yes, but he is useless. I might have to head back."

John watches Rodney take another huge bite of pie. It is normal somehow, watching Rodney eat and in the normalcy is comfort.

"What about you? You okay?" Rodney asks through his food.

John nods. "Why?"

Rodney shrugs. "Dunno. You seemed pretty shaken up when we found you."

John winces inwardly. Remembering and not wanting to remember.

He thought she died at one point.

Doesn't want to think about it.

"I was freezing to death," John replies instead.

Rodney studies John's face and John lets him, keeping himself still underneath the gaze and pretending like he doesn't know what Rodney is doing.

"A piece of luck anyway," John continues.

"Us finding you?"

John nods. "Yep. Thought you were dead."

Rodney grimaces. "Almost died. One of those bullets came close, grazing my hair. I felt the wind off of it."

"And then finding Teyla and Ronon," John continues, watching Rodney.

Rodney blushes and John grins.

"Yes well, that was lucky," Rodney mutters.

John heard the story from Teyla, how her and Ronon had been heading towards John and Elizabeth's camp when they had literally stumbled over Rodney's sleeping form. The story, Teyla said, was that Rodney was never released by the captors, never having been found in the first place. After Elizabeth was hit with a tranquilizer dart, he ran. After finding that the control crystal had been taken from the DHD, he worked on the DHD from a hiding hole less then ten feet away from the structure for two days.

As Rodney explains it, ingenuity and for some reason just happening to have another control crystal on hand allowed him to fix the DHD. John still isn't sure why Rodney had a control crystal with him but isn't asking questions.

"Would you have left without us?" John asks.

Rodney scowls. "I would have brought back reinforcements."

John grins. "Oh."

Rodney's scowl turns into a glare.

"What are you two discussing so avidly?" Teyla asks, sitting down with them, a tray of food in hand. Ronon follows behind her, sitting down across from her and next to Rodney.

Rodney pulls his food tray closer to him and farther away from Ronon.

"About how you stumbled upon Rodney," John replies.

Teyla smiles. Rodney grunts in between bites of pie, now being consumed at an increased rate.

John shakes his head, turning to look away from Rodney and towards Teyla. "So, what have the two of you been up to?"

Teyla glances over at Ronon who is also consuming his food at a rapid rate. "Ronon was training with some of the warriors and I was sitting with Elizabeth."

"Is she awake?" John asks.

Teyla looks at John and her in her look is something that makes him wonder if he was too eager in his question.

"Yes. She woke an hour ago."

John nods. Tries to stay seated. Can't.

"Okay. Well, I will leave you to lunch. I need to talk with Larrin."

Teyla smiles in reply. The two men look up and grunt at him.

John pushes his chair in and heads out of the mess hall, depositing his trash as he goes.

The three at the table watch John walk away.

"Elizabeth?" Rodney asks, swallowing his final bite of pie.

"Of course," Teyla answers.

John doesn't realize he is so transparent but doesn't think about it at the same time.

He turns down a hallway and then into the medical area. A quick glance shows him that Mathis is in his office and the nurse, Reca, is nowhere around.

His eyes fall on the woman in bed. A flash of disappointment slashes across his face to see Elizabeth's eyes closed. The thought of turning around crosses his mind but he dismisses it almost immediately, walking forward.

She sleeps on her side, curled up slightly and he is glad to see that some color has returned to her cheeks, though she still looks tiny in the bed.

He stands there for a moment and he plans to only stand there for a moment but then she opens her eyes.

The smile she gives him is slow and steady.

It tugs.

"Hi," she answers, her voice raw sounding.

John reaches for the chair at the wall and pulls it towards the bed. He sits down so his face is level with her face.

"How you feeling?"

Elizabeth closes her eyes. Dark eyelashes against pale cheeks.

She opens them, green eyes catching at his and holding.

"Tired."

John flashes a grin. "I can imagine."

John traces her face with his eyes. Noticing the details. Every one of them.

"You had me worried there for awhile," he continues.

"Sorry," she replies.

John shrugs, slightly, nonchalantly. "Just like old times."

A memory of standing in the rain, screaming at Kola through a walky-talky.

He shakes it off. "But, Teyla says that you're good now."

"I guess," Elizabeth replies. She turns from her side to her back and then tries to sit up.

John reaches for her. To help her. And then pauses. Unsure. Hovering.

She manages on her own and he returns to the chair.

He notices her hand shakes when she pushes her hair from her face.

"So, do we know anything yet?" She asks.

John recognizes her voice. The voice that leads to business in order to stay away from other things.

"Not yet. No one seems to recognize my description."

"And the information, the information Malroy wanted?"

"Rodney is working on it."

Elizabeth smiles slightly. "Of course."

Silence falls between them. Sudden and complete and uncomfortable.

"Teyla told me that you saved my life," Elizabeth finally says.

"How much do you remember?"

Elizabeth pauses, looking away from him and behind his head. To something there. Far away. John fights the instinct to look over his shoulder, to maybe catch a glimpse of what it is she sees.

"Not much. I remember jumping and hitting the water but everything else is pretty blurry."

John feels the tension in his shoulders release. He doesn't know why but he is glad she doesn't remember the cave.

Though nothing happened

Nothing like that at least.

But the memory still makes something go queasy in his stomach.

Elizabeth refocuses on the man sitting next to her. The thing is, she remembers more than that but knows if John does not reply to the situation, does not bring notice to the situation, he probably views something of the situation as inappropriate, as crossing a line, even if those lines do not necessarily exist any more.

But there are other lines. Lines that are defined by the inactive nannites still in her system. A knowledge of what she isn't anymore and what she was but not really.

She knows. So she doesn't make mention of the memory of having John wrapped around her. Of feeling his heart against her cheek. Listening to the beat of his life until she fell into fevered dreams.

Fevered nightmares.

She closes her eyes for a moment but reopens them immediately when she hears John move.

He stands now.

She isn't surprised.

"I'll let you rest."

Elizabeth nods. She doesn't want rest. Rest means thinking and she doesn't want to think.

At least not about what it is she thinks about.

She wants to be busy. Figure out who Malroy is. Who the women is. And what the information is that the man and woman are so desperate to get a hold of. And how that information translates to weaponry. How it translates as something to be used against the Wraith.

"Okay," is all she says.

John pauses. Hesitates and then gives her a smile. "Glad to see you're back among the living."

"Me too," she replies.

John nods slightly. Pauses and then turns and leaves the room.

Elizabeth watches him go. The familiar gate. The familiar stride. Familiar.

She watches him until he disappears and then closes her eyes.

What a mess, she thinks.


End file.
